


Defense Against the Dark Arts

by Snowjob



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Jock Stiles, M/M, Magic, Politics - yikes, Potter Wolf, Slow Build, Teacher Derek, Teacher/Student, please bear with me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-27 06:13:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 75,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowjob/pseuds/Snowjob
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's their 7th year at Hogwarts, and while Stiles is looking forward to Quidditch matches and kicking ass on his N.E.W.T.S., the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is becoming quite the distraction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Yes to Life, and Yes to Magic

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [This Piece](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/40186) by littleartbot. 



> I have no idea how this has gotten to be so long and has taken so long to write. It's like a love letter to two fandoms and an OTP that I just can't let go of no matter how hard I try. Thank you all SO MUCH for reading and sticking with me throughout the droughts and blocks. I love you all.

The jostling of the train knocked Stiles’ head from where it had been resting easily on Scott’s shoulder, forcing him awake prematurely. He smacked his lips and swiped at the drool trail he’d left before Scott could yell at him about it. It was the other boy’s fault anyway; he’d been the one saying they needed to stay up and party before the first day of their last year at Hogwarts. Of course, _party_ had meant enjoying the electricity of the McCall house, staying up all night to gorge on pizza and play video games, which Stiles had taken to like a duck to water the summer he got to spend with Scott, who had been born and raised in the Muggle world. Stiles himself came from a long line of witches and wizards, and only started to find out about the intricacies of the Muggle lifestyle when he had befriended Scott in their first year. It had all started with the train ride, and he couldn’t help but feel it was a little bittersweet that this would be their last one.  


Stiles rested his head on Scott’s shoulder again, determined to not get all melodramatic; this year would be filled to the brim with “lasts”, he couldn’t wallow over all of them. He forced his eyes shut, ready to block out the rest of the world until they reached their destination. But now that he was awake, his brain was running wild with questions and ideas concerning their 7th year: how tough would his classes be, who would they find to replace their beater and two chasers who had graduated last year, who would be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.  


It had been quite the event when Professor Finnegan retired, being the first in a LONG line of DADA teachers to make it to retirement age before either dying or being forced out of the job due to any number of reasons. Stiles would miss the old codger; he’d been his teacher for so long, and had held a certain fondness for the slightly spastic young man. He’d been the one to suggest the Auror career to Stiles around his fourth year, and by his fifth he knew there was nothing else he wanted to do.  


But now, faced with his final year, which was for all intents and purposes his most important year with the ever terrifying N.E.W.T.S. looming in the future, it was a little unsettling to not know who would be doling out the lessons in his most significant class. It had even kept him awake a few nights at home.  


Scott shifted underneath him, groaning a bit as he stretched his legs out, sinking into the seat a little more. Stiles decided it was time to use his own neck muscles (hey, baby Stiles had worked hard to develop them, it’s only right he use them now), and did his own post-sleep-stretch, careful not to sock Scott in the jaw.  


“How much further?” Scott grumbled, idly scratching his stomach. Stiles worked the kinks out of his neck, tossing a _hell if I know_ look over to his seatmate. The car doors slid open enough for a beautiful brunette to stick her head through.  


“Hey, good to see you guys awake, finally,” the girl said, smiling enough to light up the whole car. Scott beamed over at her, gesturing hurriedly for her to join them.  


“Hey Allison,” Stiles waved, hopping to the opposite seat so she could share with her boyfriend, because he’s just that gracious. Scott threw his left arm around her shoulders, pulling her close so he could peck her cheek. The two had been dating for a couple years now, and Stiles was more than used to her presence, but still it was nice of her to give them some bro-time on their last train-ride into school. “Excited about our last year?”  


“Oh yeah, my dad’s already set me up with post-graduate internship at the Office. I could see if he could find something for you, too.” Stiles brightened visibly at the offer. Allison’s dad was a big-time Auror, renown for his hunting skills, and it would be a huge boon to his future career to get a good word from him. He’d met him once a couple years ago at the Tri-Wizard Tournament; he had seemed intense, but nice enough, so hopefully Allison wasn’t just spouting words and this could really go somewhere.  


“Yeah, that would be amazing, thanks!” The thought of already being a step into his chosen career at the end of the year was enough to calm the panicked thoughts that had entered his brain only a few minutes ago. This year was going to be _awesome_.  


“Hey guys, we’re about 20 minutes away,” Danny, their old suitemate, poked his head into their car, “you may want to get changed. Hey Allison,” he bro-nodded to them all before ducking back out.  


“Well, I’ll leave you two to your changing,” Allison grinned, already in her school uniform. Stiles pshawed.  


“Oh no, stay, nothing you haven’t seen or fantasized about before,” he said, swiping a hand down his front. Allison laughed, placed a quick kiss on Scott’s lips, and headed out the door.  


“So,” Scott started as he pulled his t-shirt over his head, “ready to make this the best year ever?”  


“Oh, undoubtedly. We’re totally going to win the Quidditch Cup, someone will fall madly in love with me because of my awesomeness, we’re going to decimate our N.E.W.T.S., and both of us are going to land killer internships before we even graduate.” He grinned as he slid his arms into his white shirt, his long, nimble fingers quickly doing up the buttons.  


“Speaking of Quidditch, when should we hold tryouts?” Scott asked, fumbling with his red and yellow striped tie before Stiles sighed and took it from his hands. Seven years and the kid still couldn’t figure out a simple Windsor.  


“I dunno man, you’re the Captain,” he put special emphasis on the C to indicate it’s capitalization in his brain. Scott rolled his eyes.  


“It could have been any one of us, Dean picked from names in a hat!”  


“That’s fate for you.” He patted the finished knot, “You know I’ll back all your decisions. Except the really stupid ones, those I will torment you mercilessly over.”  


“Thanks man,” for the tie-fixing or the back having, Stiles wasn’t quite sure, but either worked. He fixed his own tie and tugged the gray sweater-vest over his head, running a hand backwards through the hair he’d let grow out over the summer. He’d figured he’d try something different from his customary buzz cut for his senior year, and wasn’t entirely sold on it yet. Fortunately total comfort was just a haircut away, so he decided to give it an honest go before reverting back to the same look he’d sported since he was 12.  


“Ready to go?” He asked as he slid his arms through the willowy sleeves of his ancient black robes. Scott nodded, following suit and grabbing up his bag with his casual clothes, some snacks, and his wand. Stiles pulled the doors open and made his way down the narrow aisle, his own bag bumping into doors as he purposefully swung it back and forth in front of him.  


“Let’s go 7th years!” He called out, a full grin pulled across his face as he traipsed through the exclusive train car. No 1st year freak-outs, no 4th year false sense of magical bravado, just a bunch of too-cool-for-school 7th years all putting on the front that they couldn’t care less that this was their last year and wished it was already over. Stiles could pick up on the act easily, knowing a number of them were just as giddy as he was at the prospects this year held, and were actually looking forward to the days ahead of them, no matter how much they wanted to pretend otherwise. 

________________________________________________________________________

The train pulled up to the familiar castle, depositing the 7th years first, one of the many perks of surviving this long at Hogwarts. Stiles, Scott, and Allison snagged a carriage up to the castle, Stiles stopping to stroke the bony, hooked nose of the thestral closest to him, which snuffed pleasantly and nuzzled into his hand. He grinned, knowing that to his companions it looked like he was rubbing at the air, though by now they all knew what was pulling the “magical” carriages and why Stiles was one of the few students who could see them. 

Before long Scott and Stiles were settling into their shared room, lying on the beds in lieu of unpacking before they were expected to head down to the Great Hall for the Sorting Ceremony.  


“Dude, I bet we don’t even need to show up. I mean, who would miss us there, honestly?”  


“Everyone has to show up,” Danny said from their doorway, leaning casually against the strong wooden frame, looking incredibly sharp in his neatly tailored uniform, his Head Boy insignia shining from his lapel. It was really unfair how the same exact clothes could look so different on people; Danny looked like a model, Stiles looked like he was late for chess-club.  


“Man, you’re going to be insufferable this year, aren’t you?” Stiles grumbled, rubbing his hand over his face. Danny rolled his eyes.  


“It’s the rules, plus you guys are half of our Quidditch team. I think more than a few people will notice if the captains are missing.”  


“ _Captain_. Singular. Scott.” Stiles gestured to the opposite bed without raising his head from where it lolled off the edge.  


“Dean had to pull from a _hat_. As far as I’m concerned you’re co-captains,” Stiles spluttered at that while Scott seemed to nod sagely, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “So come on, go get pretty and head down so we can intimidate the other teams,” Danny tossed behind him as he made his way down the hallway, rousing the other lazy 7th and 6th years. Stiles let out a heavy sigh before rolling off the bed and onto the floor in what was likely the least graceful way possible. No one would ever suspect that he was somewhat of a genius on the Quidditch pitch, able to balance and use his broom like an extension of his body. Yet on the ground he was all limbs and jerky movements, which he _liked_ to think was a bit charming, but more than likely made him come off as a bit of a spaz.  


“I’m so not getting pretty for this,” he said into the floor as the springs of Scott’s bed groaned with the shifting of his friend’s weight.  


“You’re the most beautiful 17 year-old boy I know, let’s go,” he said, hauling Stiles up by his collar and pushing him out the door.

The Sorting Ceremony wasn’t too bad; the hall was decked out in decorations for the four houses, the ceiling all but transparent, showing off the stars and startlingly bright full moon amongst the floating candles. Gryffindor was able to snag some power-house lineage (though they all knew from experience that didn’t mean much as much for talent as it did for political power), as well as a few kids that looked at Scott and Stiles as though they hung the moon. Apparently their Quidditch status did get around, as Stiles noticed a few other people looking their direction, nudging friends to point them out, then give them a thumbs up or peace sign. Stiles checked three times to make sure there was nothing on his face and his fly was done up before responding to the attention.  


“Dude, we’re popular!” Stiles whispered excitedly to Scott, taking a drink from his goblet. After winning the Quidditch Cup last year for their house, people had started looking at them a bit more, and they got random high-fives in the halls, but beyond that nothing much had changed. Now he noticed girls looking him up and down appreciatively, younger kids looking up at them in awe, and he couldn’t help but feel kind of smug with all the attention. “I’m gonna have to send an owl to Dad, he’s never going to believe this.”  


“Can’t believe his own kid is popular? That might be the saddest thing I’ve heard,” a voice said from behind them. Stiles looked back to see Shantal, a sassy Ravenclaw they’d befriended a few years ago during a potions party gone bad. She smirked easily at the duo, “Now don’t be getting all big headed over your win last year, you know you’re looking at a half-new team, while we’ve got nearly all returning members.”  


“Yeah, but you don’t have Stiles and his crazy arms,” Scott said, wrapping around Stiles’ shoulders and rubbing at his head affectionately. Stiles batted him off only to have Shantal run a hand through his hair, seemingly mesmerized by the new growth.  


“Fair enough. You better look out this year boy, someone’s bound to eat you up,” she warned playfully, giving his head a shake before making her way through the crowds. Stiles made some grumbling noises, attempting to fix the mess his friends had made of his hair before giving up entirely. His eyes scanned the professor’s table, looking to get a glimpse of their new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher before his first session with them tomorrow, but the seat Professor Finnegan normally occupied was empty. He couldn’t help but think it unfair that all students had to be present, but professors could skip out on ceremonies. Maybe that was one of the perks of growing up and becoming responsible, you got to shirk responsibilities as desired.  


Finally the Food-Aplenty spell was cast, generating piles of food from thin air and instigating a mad rush of students to seats, even though there was no threat of running out. Stiles ate like he hadn’t seen food all summer, having missed the delicacies created by house-elves that neither he nor his dad could quite replicate. He was not ashamed to admit that one of the best things about Hogwarts was the food, and it was one of the things he would miss the most upon his graduation.  


By the end of the meal he had to cast his Stand-Without-Effort spell in order to get him out of his seat and up the ever-roving stairs, which just served to fuck up his trajectory when he needed to be someplace in a hurry. He’d never been so happy to not be a prefect, watching as the few chosen from each house led the new recruits to their respective common rooms, explaining rules and regulations as they went. Danny was positioned at an alcove near the top of the massive stairwell with Lydia Martin, a positively stunning Ravenclaw, and this year’s Head Girl. She also happened to be the object of Stiles’ affections for several years previously, but it’s not something he likes to dwell on anymore. He knew that ship had sailed, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate a beautiful, powerful woman when he saw one.  


He and Scott made their way to their room and both flopped onto Stiles’ bed, heads hanging over the edge, hands resting on their protruding stomachs.  


“Ugh, why do we do this to ourselves every year?” Scott groaned. Stiles shrugged, knowing full well neither of them could be stopped when something delicious was put in front of their faces.  


“What do you have first tomorrow?” He asked instead of trying to answer Scott’s mostly rhetorical question.  


“Herbology, for three hours. Advanced classes man, who knew?” Stiles nodded, understanding where Scott was coming from.  


“I’ve got DADA for two. Oh, hey, did you catch who the new professor is?” Scott shook his head, which ended up shaking the whole bed.  


“No, his chair was empty whenever I looked over there. Maybe they didn’t hire anybody yet.”  


“Scott, classes start _tomorrow_. I’m sure someone’s coming. Maybe they just got delayed. Maybe there’s a magical emergency. Maybe they were prepping for the coolest lesson ever for tomorrow.”  


“Maybe we should go to sleep. Oh, and I talked with Danny, he’s thinking we should hold a couple Quidditch workshops this week before scheduling tryouts next week.”  


“So is he your new co-captain?” Stiles joked, nudging Scott’s side with his elbow, which earned him a satisfied _oof_.  


“Shut up, man, you know this is a team effort.” Then, pulling himself up into his elbows, he looked down at his roommate, “So, what do you say?”  


“Sounds good cap’n, now get the hell off my bed so I can go to sleep.”

_______________________________________________________________________________________

Defense Against the Dark Arts was not Stiles’ first choice of class to have at 8 in the morning; it was really something he’d like to be more awake for. Still, he stumbled into the empty classroom with twenty minutes to spare, first-day nerves having woken him up about an hour earlier than usual and refusing to let him go back to sleep. He slipped into an empty row about 4 rows back from the front, not wanting to come across as too eager in case their new professor was a real dickweed, but not wanting to be thought of as a back-room waster either. He pulled a book out of his bag, one of his past textbooks he was using as a refresher over the summer, and began rereading the overly highlighted pages as he waited for the class to start.  


Slowly students began to trickle in, sitting sporadically around the room. Stiles felt a hand card through his hair and rolled his eyes so hard he thought they might fall out of his head as Shantal took the seat next to him, her dark skin positively glowing which was just unfair this early in the morning.  


“Hey Mr. Quidditch, don’t you know the popular kids don’t show up to class on time, never mind ten minutes early?”  


“Twenty, and no, I didn’t get the memo. Guess I need to be added to the newsletter. Who runs that?” He played back without taking his eyes off of his book. He’d learned years ago that if he wanted something he couldn’t let his ADD be an excuse, and he wanted to be an Auror more than anything, so he learned how to force his focus, even with activity around him. Shantal laughed lightly and pulled out her wand, fiddling around with easy charms to waste the time as Stiles dove back into his text. It was another few minutes of murmured quiet before he heard a gasp come from his left.  


“Who is _that_?” Shantal breathed as dark fabric swept past them, Stiles looking up from his book just in time to see broad shoulders and dark hair make their way up the aisle to the front of the classroom. He shot a look at the Ravenclaw next to him, her mouth parted a bit in awe, staring at the man at the front of the room who was still faced away from the class, rummaging through some papers or potions or who knows what. Stiles glanced back over to the man, trying to glean some kind of information beyond dark hair, dark coat, broad shoulders, but the guy just wasn’t giving it up.  


“I would assume that’s our professor. I mean, judging by the way he saunters down aisles and putzes around in the front of classrooms.” She smacked him good-naturedly, Stiles feigning pain and rubbing at his shoulder. It was then that the man turned to face the class, and Stiles suddenly knew exactly what Shantal had been going on about, because at the front of the room stood Derek Hale, or, as Stiles had taken to calling him a few years prior, Derek _Fucking_ Hale. Seeker for the Wigtown Wanderers. All around badass. His mouth went dry as piercing pale eyes made their way around the room, locking with his for just a second before continuing their rounds.  


Stiles couldn’t believe his Quidditch hero was in the same city-state as him, let alone his new _teacher_. He was giddy and anxious at the same time, his heart beating a mile a minute, trying to figure out the best way to get into a conversation with him without coming off as a pathetic fanboy.  


Der- Professor Hale (assuming Stiles was right and hadn’t conjured up a fantasy through a look-alike wannabe) had a stern look on his face, seemingly evaluating the 7th and 6th years set before him. Defense Against the Dark Arts was generally a smaller class, allowing for more one-on-one work, and this class, being as advanced as it was, was incredibly small, only eleven students in all. Unlike Charms or Potions (the bane of Stiles’ existence), which were mandatory for students to take every year of their seven year stint at Hogwarts, only three years of DADA were required to satisfy graduation requirements. Still, some students, especially those looking to join the exclusive ranks of the Aurors, sought out the class every year. Stiles himself was on his sixth and final round, having traded it for Divination in his 3rd year to see if Lydia would ever come to her senses and realize Stiles was truly the wizard of her dreams. Turns out Divination is a huge waste of time, and four years later Lydia was _still_ dating that smug-looking Slytherin, Jackson Whittemore. He’d probably always hold a torch for Lydia, but somewhere around his 5th year he realized it was a lost cause, and somewhere around his 6th year he realized their keeper, Danny, had an exquisitely broad chest and strong hands and he really wanted to feel both pressed against him. By the end of his 6th year he’d realized, while Danny was gorgeous and great to hang around, they really didn’t click on a romantic level, and the two amicably parted ways.  


And now, at the dawn of his 7th year, he was coming face to face with the man who inspired his seeker moves, who first stirred the thoughts that a strong jaw and broad shoulders could and should be admired, and who may have starred in more than a few of his masturbatory fantasies.  


Professor Hale- that was seriously going to take some getting used to- cleared his throat, even though he already had the rapt attention of everyone in the class. Stiles couldn’t help but lean in a bit more with anticipation, eyes drinking in the tall, strong form in the front of the room. Hale’s arms were crossed casually over his chest, a stern look on his chiseled features.  


“I’m Professor Hale.” (Score! It wasn’t a look-alike wannabe! This is the real-deal, folks!) “For many of you, this will be your final year of Defense Against the Dark Arts,” he began, voice softer than Stiles would have guessed. He realized he’d never really heard the man speak, for all the fawning over him he’d done. “I’m hoping it will also be your most challenging year. Because the more you’re challenged here, the better chance you’ll have out there.”  


“Excuse me,” Stiles cringed at the voice belonging to the person in front of him, full of ennui and impudence, “but what’s a washed up Quidditch player going to teach us about defense against dark arts?” Jaws literally dropped at the audacity of the speaker, a cocky 6th year Ravenclaw. Hale stood stock still for a moment, then shrugged out of his long black coat, rolled his head around his broad shoulders, and looked back at the student, eyes a startling electric blue, canines elongated, and in one swift movement launched himself from behind the podium to the table of his challenger. A clawed finger came out and menacingly ran down the shaking student’s cheek, a deliciously wicked smile on his contorted features.  


“Check the syllabus,” he growled, voice pitched low and reverberating through the room, before hopping to the floor and reverting back to a fully-human form. Stiles’ jaw was still hanging open, his brain working furiously to will his slight erection to go down as Hale walked casually back to the front, grabbing his coat off the floor and slipping it back on without a glance backwards. All around the room students were buzzing with excitement, and maybe a little bit of fear. Their new teacher was a werewolf, a bonafide, I-change-when-I-want-to werewolf. Stiles knew there would likely be a shitstorm following this revelation: parents pulling their kids from the class, demanding his expulsion. It had happened years and years ago, long before his first year, with a man who had tried desperately to keep his lycanthropy a secret, but was eventually outed by a colleague. Hale was apparently taking the opposite approach, laying all the cards out on the table the first day. Stiles had to respect a man who refused to hide who, or indeed what, he was, plus it was nice to see that little Ravenclaw shit get what was coming to him for once. The boy was still shaking slightly in his seat, and Stiles hoped his new found silence would persist throughout his other classes, and maybe even the rest of the year. One could dream.  


Being the first day, the rest of the class went without incident. Hale ran them through some of the spells they had learned in previous years, from the basics to the more advanced, addressing the groans at the level 1 spells with a sharp glare and reminder that sometimes the simplest spell is the one that saves your life. Stiles had to admit he put more effort into his duels than he’d normally warrant on a first day, preening a little when he caught Hale watching and nodding. Yeah, this year was going to _rule_.

* * *


	2. How Many Rattails are in Minkerfoils?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, still figuring out AO3's setup, so forgive me if the formatting's way off. I'll get it eventually~

“I can’t believe we don’t have any classes but Potions together,” Scott whined as the duo plodded towards the dungeons. Scott was on the medical track, following in the footsteps of his Muggle mother. The end result was almost completely opposite scheduling for the previously inseparable duo. 

“Yeah, it’s going to be weird annoying all the professors all by myself. Oh, yeah, did I tell you, Derek _Fucking_ Hale is the new DADA teacher, can you believe it?” He smacked a hand into Scott’s firm chest for emphasis on how crazy this all was. Scott’s jaw dropped open.

“The actual Derek Hale? Seriously? He’s just a few years older than us.”

“Yeah, and get this. The dude’s a _werewolf_! Totally wolfed out on a kid in class, some pain in the ass Ravenclaw, it was amazing.”

“It- is he okay? The kid?” Scott asked, shifting his books a little. Stiles nodded vigorously.

“Oh yeah, Derek had complete control. I mean, I’ve heard some werewolves can shift whenever they want, but I never thought I’d get to see it. And definitely not in the middle of our first class. Shit was legendary.” Scott smirked a little.

“’Derek’? Getting a little personal with the professor there?” Stiles mentally slapped himself. He _really_ needed to get used to the whole I-don’t-actually-know-you-and-now-you’re-my-teacher thing.

“I mean Professor Hale; c’mon, it’s still the first day, it’ll take some breaking in. I just hope I don’t slip up and call him Derek Fucking Hale to his face.” They slowed down as they rounded the final column at the bottom of the stairs and found themselves just outside the doorway of their potions class. The acrid smell of burnt herbs permeated into the walls from decades, if not centuries, of mixing the most random things together in hopes of creating something useful. 

Stiles groaned inwardly as Harris, the potions master for the last 4 years, fixed him with an angry glare. He wasn’t even in the room yet! The guy had never liked Stiles, though he couldn’t say why. As far as he knew he’d never done anything to him, besides having made a mess in class every now and then. Or, yeah, maybe every single class session. Potions were just not his thing, alright? But still, it was no reason to hate so openly on a student. Stiles slid into a seat in the back corner, closest to the door, with Scott sidling in beside him. Across the room he could see Lydia cozying up to Jackson, a blonde Slytherin with sharp cheekbones and a look on his face that just oozed confidence. Stiles rolled his eyes and slid his long fingers through his hair to the back of his neck, already anxious for this class to be over.

“Hey, cheer up, it’s the last year you’ll ever have to take potions!” Scott pointed out, shaking his shoulder a little. Stiles smiled a little weakly at him, nodding his agreement. If he could just get through the year, skate under Harris’ radar, he’d be fine. Potions used to be a necessary part of being an Auror, requiring a N.E.W.T. of _Exceeds Expectations_ or above, but fortunately for Stiles about a decade ago they opened up a sub-department to the Auror Office for those specializing in Potions, basically the Q’s of the wizarding world (Stiles would be forever grateful to Scott for introducing him to _James Bond_ ). Now he could focus on being a badass and let the geniuses handle all the newt eyes and wart tongues and unicorn testicles.

Unfortunately, it looked like Harris had no intentions on making things easy for Stiles. Most of his review questions were directed at Stiles and Scott, who fortunately were able to answer about 85% of them right, which seemed to annoy their professor further. Stiles was beginning to feel smug, glad he’d decided to study throughout the summer instead of just hoping for the best. He glanced around the room to see Lydia nodding at him appreciatively, a delicate eyebrow raised. He couldn’t help but beam at that; even though he knew his chances with Lydia Martin were less than zero, he could still appreciate her appreciating him in an intellectual way. Finally Harris took his firing squad to the other side of the room, and the class got started on making their first potion of the year. 

By the end of the two hours Stiles and Scott were beyond pleased to find that they had indeed been able to make the required Blemish Blitzer, which Scott had bravely tried (if they had messed up it would have had the opposite affect, producing acne instead of clearing it). The two watched in awe as the few zits that had cropped up on Scott’s forehead and cheek shrank to nothingness before their eyes, and high-fived over their success and Scott’s new blemish-free existence. Lydia and Jackson, already privy to a life without acne, were choosing a more-than-willing victim to try their concoction. So long as Lydia was truly over her “I’m a dumb beauty” phase, which she had kicked two years ago after being cajoled to compete in the Academic Decathlon against the students of Beauxbatons Academy, it should be a spectacular success. Unless, of course, they messed it up on purpose just to be cruel to the lesser beings surrounding them. Stiles wasn’t willing to take the risk, and winced as Otterpop, a fellow Gryffindor, downed the drink. Luck and good graces were on his side, and his face cleared up instantly, to which Lydia had nodded smugly and flipped her strawberry blonde hair back over her shoulder. Harris watched over the class with that same, unimpressed and vaguely annoyed look, his face only softening when it landed on Lydia and Jackson’s table, commending them on a job well done, thin fingers gripping Jackson’s arm for just a second before moving on to the next table and ragging on the pair of Hufflepuffs who had unfortunately skipped a step and had broken out in a truly heinous fashion. It made Stiles’ stomach turn, the way Harris tended to berate his students, but at least this time he and Scott were in the clear. When he got to them his eyes narrowed, nodding tersely at the empty cup and Scott’s crystal clear visage.

“Let’s try not to burn the school down this year, hm, Mr. Stilinski?” He jabbed out, turning and dismissing the class before Stiles could get in a cutting remark, which was probably for the best. No need to bring unnecessary animosity his way, especially after a successful first session. He and Scott gathered their things and made their way back up the winding stairs, bumping fists before breaking off in opposite directions.

____________________

Stiles’ last class of the day was his 7th year seminar, which only met for an hour on Mondays and basically served as a guidance course to make sure students were ready to get out in the world and contribute. Professor Hardcastle made it clear that the bulk of the work would come from their 7th year thesis, where they would choose a topic that interested and inspired them and delve deep enough into it that they would become veritable experts.

“While I’m happy to act as an advisor for anyone here, you’re also welcome to ask another staff member to take on the position if they’re more suitable. However, don’t assume they’ll have the time to be an advisor; make sure you ask and get their signature before claiming them.” Hardcastle had lectured from the front of the room, stern and unwavering before 40 or so 7th year students.

Stiles was practically buzzing in his seat, quill racing down his parchment as he brainstormed thesis ideas, noticing a common theme as his eyes scanned over his scrawling. He felt the blush rise up on his cheeks, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he would have come to the same conclusion had a certain person not joined the faculty this year.

_____________________

Standing at the door, long fingers just barely brushing the brass handle, Stiles shifted his weight from foot to foot, fighting down the nervous tripping of his heart. He had every right in the world to be here, having memorized the office hours of all of his professors, and yet he didn’t want to feel like an intruder, or a pathetic fan, which was for more likely. But, it was school business, totally school business that brought him here, so he should just get the hell over himself and knock, or be bold and just walk in, or-

“Come in,” a voice called out impatiently, muffled by the thick wood, causing Stiles to jump. He heaved in and slowly released a deep breath, grasped the handle and gave a sharp tug to the heavy door, revealing a messy desk, dark coat draped haphazardly across a green trunk, and Hale, sitting in a high-backed chair, looking uncomfortable as he glared at the parchment in his hands. 

“If this is a bad time I can-” Stiles started before Hale waved for him to sit in the chair across from him, lips pursed in consternation, still not looking away from the parchment. Stiles sat nervously, muscles taut, ready to spring for the door at the drop of a hat. Or the elongation of a fang, which would more likely be the case. He tried to keep his fidgeting to a minimum as he waited, running his fingers around the frayed edges of his robe, wondering absently if he should buy new ones, or just get through his final year with these threadbare articles he’s had since he was, oh wow, 14. He snorted a bit at the revelation; no wonder Lydia had never given him a second glance. He looked up to see Hale had put the parchment down and was now watching him expectantly; eyebrows raised in what could have been either annoyance or anticipation. Stiles sat up a little straighter, mouth suddenly dry as his brain scrambled to remember why exactly he was sitting in this stiflingly small room with a man whom he’s had several sexual fantasies about, and could easily tear him limb from limb.

“Did you want to talk with me about something, Mr. Stilinski?” His voice was calm, almost forcedly so, which snapped Stiles back to attention. Also, holy shit, he already knew his name? After one class? Impressive, Mr. Hale. Impressive.

“Uh, yeah, I was wondering, for a 7th year thesis, I had wanted to write about werewolves in our society, and the new laws coming up, and now with you here, I was thinking you’d be a great resource, and maybe even could be my advisor?” His voice lilted at the end, turning the statement into a question. Hale watched him closely with narrowed, intense eyes, and Stiles was suddenly hyperaware of every odd thing about himself: his moles, his upturned nose, his hair that was tufted so non-specifically it probably looked like he actually tried to do something with it. He shifted awkwardly under the penetrative gaze, and tried not to physically deflate with relief when Hale began to nod slowly.

“You’re an interesting one, Mr. Stilinski. You really don’t mind my being here?” Stile’s eyes lit up at the question.

“Hell no! This is probably the best thing to happen to me at Hogwarts! I mean, it’s _you_ , and then to find out you’re a _werewolf_ , icing on the cake, man!” He flashed a genuine grin at the professor, who snorted lightly and shook his head, eyes down on the desk, trained on the parchment he had been focused on previously.

“Well, it’d be nice if others had your perspective.” Now Stiles was curious, wanting to see exactly what was on that parchment, though he had a guess. It had been incredibly risky for Hale to shift in class, expose himself as a werewolf on the first day, and Stiles was sure the repercussions were already making their way to him. 

“Is it bad?” He asked, leaning in a little, resting his forearms on his knees. Hale pursed his lips and shook his head.

“I was expecting something like this would happen. A few students have dropped the class, some parents are demanding I be taken out of the school, some others are demanding I be taken out back and shot,” he waved a hand over the parchment, “same old story.”

“They can’t _make_ you resign, can they? Isn’t that against the law?”

“Werewolf law isn’t in effect yet, and the Greybacks have set us all back about 50 years in progress. That family’s been a scourge on my kind for centuries. My family’s tried to bring werewolves into a positive light, but it’s slow-going.” He paused and let a little rueful pout slip through, “I guess wolfing out on a kid in class doesn’t exactly help our image.”

“Maybe not, but _man_ , that was awesome,” Stiles sighed wistfully, having replayed the moment in his brain about 30 times throughout the day, “I want to put that memory in a pensieve just so I can really relive it over and over.” That almost got a smirk out of Hale, which was now something Stiles was _dying_ to see. 

“I still shouldn’t have done it,” he reigned in his almost smile and smothered it back into a glare. “My family prides itself on our control. I wouldn’t be surprised if I’ve got a howler waiting from my sister already.”

“So, you’re a born wolf?” Stiles leaned forward again, sure his eyes were positively shining with interest. He’d been fascinated with werewolves for years now, ever since he and Scott went running around the Forbidden Forest, (really, if they didn’t want students in there, they should have named it the _Please Come Visit Forest_ ), and Scott was convinced he had been attacked and bitten by a werewolf. Turned out it was just an over-excited hound, but Scott swears up and down it was 3 feet bigger and way snarlier. Hale narrowed his eyes, more in curiosity than anger, like he was trying to figure out Stiles’ angle. After a moment he answered.

“Yes, the Hales are old-blood, probably the most pure-blood werewolf family on record, tending to mate with only other born wolves. We see the bite as a gift, not a curse, and not something to throw at just anyone.” He paused, eyes meeting Stiles’, and the younger man was shocked by how open and sincere they were, and how many _colors_ , sweet mother of mercy. “Not many are meant to handle the power of a wolf.” A shiver went down his spine at those words, almost like a promise of all the raw, animalistic power surging just beneath Hale’s calm surface. The fact that he’d seen him in many intense matches and never had an inkling that he was more than just a man really told him of the control the professor was sporting. Suddenly his insane prowess on the quidditch pitch made so much more sense, and Stiles was left with conflicting feelings on it.

“Did you, I mean, when you played, being, what you are, did that give you an advantage?” The _unfair_ was left unsaid, but heavily implied. Stiles’ chest constricted as Hale sighed and looked away, focusing his glare to the left of Stiles, where several blank portraits adorned the walls. Must be cribbage time for the paintings.

“I reigned it in as much as possible, and never shifted on the field, which would have heightened my abilities ten-fold,” he breathed heavily through his nose, “but it’s impossible to know where the line is in what’s human, and what’s supernatural.” He dragged his gaze back to Stiles’ face, and Stiles was sure he’d never seen a more earnest pair of eyes in his life, “That’s why I retired. I’ll always be quicker, have better eyesight and hearing, no matter how much I push down the wolf. I figured I could put those skills to a lot better use than catching a golden ball.” He almost snarled the last few words, causing Stiles to wince.

“Dude,” Hale glared at the informality, but Stiles trucked on, “there’s nothing wrong with playing and enjoying quidditch. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re here, but, shit, you played like you loved it.” Stiles realized he was probably getting a little too familiar, dropping _dudes_ and _shits_ like he was talking to Scott, but maybe that’s what Hale needed right now, someone to be normal towards him. 

Hale’s eyes widened a little before he leaned back in his chair and took in the whole of Stiles, raking his gaze over him in a way that made the younger man feel vulnerable.

“Why are you here, Mr. Stilinski?” Whether he was trying to redirect the conversation (which had gone wildly off track) or had genuinely forgotten, Stiles would never know. He cleared his throat.

“I was wondering if you’d be willing to help me with my thesis project, and maybe be my advisor, which I totally get if you don’t want to be, especially after-”

“Sure.” Stiles’ mouth clamped shut at that one, simple word. He said yes. Holy shit, he actually said yes. He fought every instinct in his body that wanted to throw his arms up in the air in victory.

“Oh wow, thanks, are you positive?” Because Stiles wouldn’t be Stiles if he didn’t try to fuck-up a perfectly successful mission for _no damn reason_. “I mean, it’s a lot of work, and it’s your first year here, and I’ve been told I can be kind of a handful-”

“Are you really trying to talk me out of doing what you’ve just spent twenty minutes trying to talk me _into_ doing?” Hale asked, an incredulous, if not slightly amused, look on his ridiculously attractive face. 

“I just didn’t want there to be any regrets, you know?” He shrugged, and then felt it coming up. The fanboy word-vomit, there was no holding it back now. “It’s just, I’ve always been a huge fan of yours,” he spewed out, right hand scrubbing through his unkempt hair, left hand flailing, indicating toward the man in front of him, as though there could be confusion as to whom he was referring, “and I don’t want you to end up hating me, and I’m sure you get this all the time, but, you inspired me to try out for the Gryffindor team, and now I’m a seeker, and I just wanted to say thank you.” He glanced up nervously, his brown eyes meeting a surprisingly soft look from the older man. Not too much older, Stiles was sure to note in his brain; they had been at school, this school, together for 2 whole years before Derek graduated and became a professional Quidditch player. Which lead him back to this awkward conversation.

“You’re welcome, and you’re wrong.” Stiles quirked up an eyebrow, prompting his professor to continue, “I don’t get that all the time. In fact,” he paused, a barely discernible smirk playing on his lips, “that might have been my first fan declaration.”

“Well, maybe if you didn’t walk around like you’re a breath away from hexing everyone-” and just like that the glare was back, and Stiles was silently cursing himself for ever developing the ability to speak. “I’m just saying, you’ve got fans out there, they just might be intimidated by all this,” again with the flailing arm, this time working loose circles in the air in front of Hale’s face. Hale blinked at the slight breeze, eyebrows drawn together in annoyance. Stiles knew he was pushing it at this point, and should really get out of there before the werewolf changed his mind and ate him for dinner for being so obnoxious.

“Um, do Wednesdays at 6 work for you? For the thesis? Unless you’ve changed-”

“Yes,” Hale practically growled out, and Stiles knew it was definitely time to go.

“Alright, great, thanks, looking forward to it,” he shot out before stumbling over his feet in the two steps from the chair to the door. He could practically hear Hale shaking his head behind him, regretting his compliance, but Stiles didn’t care. Once safely leaning against the closed door he let out a giant breath of air and pumped his fists about thirty times before hauling ass back to Gryffindor Tower. Scott was _never_ going to believe this.


	3. The Faculty Table is Full of Weirdo Professors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically chapters 1 & 2 told from Derek's perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry, I am SO BAD at writing Derek; I can’t get his voice right. But I need to get his perspective on things out, so please bear with me. It would stand to reason that my favorite character is the hardest to write.

He’s still kind of surprised to find himself at his old alma mater, prepping an office, when the last thing he did here was clean out his dormitory, assuming he’d never be back. A part of him wanted to visit the old Slytherin dungeon before the students repopulated the place, but he pushed it back in favor of clearing out the clutter his predecessor had gifted him with. Though a lot of it was trash, the notes he left him were invaluable, and Derek kept them safely tucked away in one of the many drawers of the mahogany desk after pouring over them for several hours his first night there. They detailed the spells and defenses gone over for each leveled class, so Derek would know where each proceeding class should pick up without overly repeating information. Although he knew from experience that the first thing you learn is no more or less important than the latest thing. Magic was like those muggle buildings, built from the ground up, needing a solid foundation in order to do anything else. 

There was also a short list of students he’d been asked to keep an eye on, as a personal favor to Professor Finnegan, whom Derek had had as a professor for the duration of his own Hogwarts years (he’d transferred from Durmstrang in his 3rd year). Perusing the names, he recognized a few: 

Argent, a student in his most advanced class, exclusive to those who have taken DADA every single year. He assumed, both from the name, her advanced level, and the praising notes left by Finnegan, that she was the daughter of Chris Argent, Auror extraordinaire. His gut clenched a little at the name, but he didn’t want to judge this girl for what someone else had done, so he pushed it down and away. 

Lahey, from his 4th level class. He had been in some trouble a few years back, his dad going dark after the death of his eldest son. It was in the Daily Prophet, complete with photos of him screaming at the public and threatening his boy, who looked like a kicked puppy. Derek assumed this was more of a personal watch-over rather than academic, judging by his lower level. He didn’t appear to be an aspiring Auror, but rather someone who might need some honest looking-after. 

And Stilinski. He actually smirked when he saw that name, because he didn’t recognize it from a newspaper or an office head, but rather his own experiences. Stilinski and McCall, rumored to give the legendary Marauders a run for their money, even at the tender age of 12. They managed to get to Hogsmeade almost every visit, despite the fact that 1st and 2nd years weren’t permitted to go. Derek remembered seeing their round faces at his usual haunts, more amused than annoyed at the underage tagalongs, and a little envious he hadn’t been able to pull off something like that when he was a kid. Stilinski had always seemed to be underfoot and at the heart of any issue that came about the school. Derek was kind of amazed he’d actually made it to his 7th year without getting expelled or eaten by something.

He set the list in with the other class notes, glad for the quick insight, even if it was the barest glimpse of what he’d be dealing with this year. 

“Professor Hale?” He looked up from the desk to see a slender man standing at his doorway, narrow, sharp-edged glasses giving his pale face an almost pinched look. 

“Derek,” he said, standing and walking over to extend his hand. The other man took it, his long fingers feeling especially cool in Derek’s overly warm grip. 

“Adrian Harris, Potions Master. How are you settling?” He let his hand linger until Derek withdrew his, feeling a little uncomfortable at the unexpectedly extended touch, but kept his face a cool neutral. 

“Finnegan left a lot to go through, should take me up to the first day to clear it all out at this rate.” Derek didn’t so much complain as he stated truths. He didn’t see himself as overly optimistic or pessimistic, but rather very observational. As far as he was concerned there was no point in sugarcoating bad things, they were going to be bad no matter what, might as well keep them honest and be prepared.

“I could help you, that might give you more time to get to know the grounds before everyone else gets here.” Derek gave a slight shake to his head.

“I was a student here not too long ago, not much could have changed. And I should really organize it all myself; don’t want to throw anything useful away, and I need to know where everything is.” He doesn’t mention that it’s kind of a wolf thing, needing his den to be _his_ , a place of safety and control. Harris seems to accept his explanation, nodding slightly, cool grey eyes taking in the mess surrounding them.

“Well, if you need, anything, really, for whatever reason, you let me know, okay?” He placed a hand on Derek’s shoulder and gave an overly familiar squeeze before backing out of the room and heading down the hall. Derek cocked an eyebrow at the phantom touch, a little unsure at what had just transpired. He shook it off, literally, and went back to his cleaning, sorting through the stacks of parchment and dusty books. 

________________________ 

Derek had been right, it took him up until the day of the Sorting Ceremony to get his office and the classroom sufficiently ready. He’d barely spent any time in his own room, which was still blank and impersonal, holding a trunk of his clothes, his Skywarp (the latest and greatest in broom technology), and not much else. Now that his work areas were finally fit for, well, work, his fingers itched to grab up his broom and just fly for hours, his skin nearly bursting with nervous energy. He’d been feeling the tug of the moon all week, using his focus on the classroom and office as his anchor, but now, for the first time since he was a teenager he was filled with a need to run and howl, the full moon urging him to shift and let go. For the first time since he was prepubescent he feared his ability to control himself. 

He knew the Sorting Ceremony was a sacred tradition, one of the most important days for first years at Hogwarts. Though the houses were less segregated than they had been in previous generations, it was still an induction into family, belonging. Derek himself hadn’t gotten to participate due to his late transfer, and instead was taken to the headmaster’s office where the Sorting Hat had declared him a Slytherin, while his sister had been placed in Ravenclaw. At first he thought it was weird they’d been put in different houses, until the dynamics of the housing was both explained and shown to him, and suddenly it all made a crushing amount of sense. He wondered what it would have been like to have spent all seven years at Hogwarts, in Slytherin, how he might have bonded with more than just the Quidditch team, how people might have cheered when they called out his house, happy for the new addition. The ceremonies he attended as an upperclassman were always euphoric, an event he tended to look forward to throughout the summers.

And now, he had to find a way to get out of it. He knew already it would be too much: his nerves, the full moon, the heightened emotions of hundreds of people in one room. Even the most controlled werewolf would shy away from an experience like that. Most bitten wolves would have taken a potion, but Derek’s never had to take anything to suppress his shift, and hadn’t even thought that it could become an issue. He knew Headmaster Deaton was aware of his condition, but he also was under the generally true assumption that Derek could handle it. It wasn’t going to look great if on first full moon into his tenure he lost control, or admitted to a fear of possibly loosing control. 

Shockingly it was Adrian Harris who unwittingly came to his aid, muttering in the teacher’s lounge about not having enough pleine lune, a flower that only bloomed on the full moon, so he’d have to scrap his 3rd year lessons for the week, making him work overtime to make up for it and scrounge up something else. All Derek really heard was _EXCUSE EXCUSE EXCUSE_.

“I could run out and get it tonight,” he said with calm nonchalance, glad no one else in the room could hear the rapid beating of his heart, “hate to see all that hard work go for nothing.” The second the words were out of his mouth he wished he could stuff them back in, if only because of the almost hungry look Harris had given him. He may have just stirred a pot he hadn’t even known was on the stove. But, whatever, if it got him out of the castle for the night, that’s all he needed.

A few professors jumped in to assure Derek it was not that big of a deal, that Harris could manage with what was in the cabinets, that he didn’t have to miss the Sorting Ceremony for a flower, but Derek’s attention was focused on Deaton, who was nodding sagely in the background. There wasn’t a chance Deaton believed Derek was as gung-ho about flower hunting and ingratiating himself with the staff as he was putting on, but nevertheless he gave him his leave, permitting him to miss out on the ceremony with a pat on the arm and a quick, “And if shifting makes it easier to find the plant, maybe you’ll be back in time for the feast?” He spoke so low only Derek could have possibly heard him. Derek nodded, appreciating the man’s understanding and discretion.

________________________ 

He could smell the Hogwarts Express about a mile down the rails before making his way over the grounds and into the Forbidden Forest. He really did want to be there for the initial ceremony of the school year, but knew it would be an especially short year for him if he ended up wolfing out while a baby-faced first year was getting her house placement. 

Just inside the forest Derek shrugged out of his dark trench coat, hanging it on a conspicuous tree before allowing the shift to take place. Away from the school and students it was much easier to maintain control, but it didn’t mean he wanted to if he had the option of letting go. The full moon called to him, urging the wolf to the surface, and the release felt good. He loosened his shoulders, feeling the bones in his face contort, pushing his brow down and his cheeks out, incisors elongating into fangs. His muscles corded with energy as his eyesight and hearing got sharper, able to pick up the din from the school over two miles away. He put his nose to the wind, sifting through the hundreds of different smells until he landed on the one he was looking for, and began loping in its direction. Pleine lune had a very distinct, sweet scent, and was considered a delicacy among werewolves. If he found enough he might sneak some to his own room to use later, and wouldn’t mind making a few more full moon runs for them. His mother had used them in her cooking when she could, and always on his and Laura’s birthdays. 

Before long he dropped to all fours, letting his muscles stretch and burn in the best way. It’d been so long since he let himself succumb to the sway of the moon, he’d almost forgotten how amazing it felt to just _run_. Not that he never shifted; he was a born wolf, he could shift whenever he wanted, but a full moon shift was different. It was _primal_. He threw his head back and howled, baying at the moon like he and his family used to. He half-wondered if Laura had allowed the shift tonight as well, if she’d gone full wolf or stayed at her beta-stage like he had. A mournful howl ripped through his chest as he felt the loneliness edging into him, reminding him how alone he was out here. Before he even realized he had stopped running he found himself leaning against a tree, waiting for a return howl that would not come, at least not tonight.

He shook his head, regaining his senses and remembering why he was out here in the first place. He caught the scent again, stronger than before, and took off. A patch of dark blue flowers that went iridescent in the moonlight sat in a small clearing, and it was all he could do to not shove one in his mouth immediately. He had to prove, to himself as much as anyone else, that he was still in control. He carefully plucked the flowers and set them in the satchel that had been bouncing around next to his left thigh. He knew he’d have to take the trip back much slower, unless Harris wanted a bunch of crushed plants. He wasn’t sure what the plans for the pleine lune were, but assumed the potions master would prefer the whole bloom to do with as he will. 

The slow walk back gave Derek time to contemplate what the hell he was doing here, and how the hell he was going to get through the year. He deliberated on when he would reveal his wolvlihood to the school, as he had resolved before accepting the position that he would not try to disguise what he really was, not anymore. After three years of professional quidditch he was done pretending. But werewolves in society was still a touchy subject, and he knew he’d have to take care when it came to the big reveal. Deaton knew, of course, but as far as Derek was aware he was the only one who knew. He was definitely the only one Derek had told, at any rate. 

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he allowed himself to wonder what it might be like to be completely out in the open. It’s not like people didn’t know werewolves existed, they were just not as widely accepted as one might hope (if one was a werewolf). But The Half-Human Rights Campaign was growing, and there were bills in process at the Ministry of Magic, dubbed “werewolf law”, even though they pertained to all half-human species: werewolves, vampires, shifters, even centaurs, though the majority of the race preferred to keep themselves separate from human society. The bills were introduced to assure half-humans received the same civil rights as any other witch or wizard. Laura, his sister, was heavily involved in the campaign, and her work within the Ministry was part of why the bills had gotten as far as they had. He was both proud and scared sick for her, knowing firsthand what the purist zealots were capable of. 

Before long he found himself back at his coat, the moon still a shining beacon in the sky, and he knew he wasn’t quite ready to go back yet. His skin prickled, wanting the shift, and after he carefully hooked the bag of flowers onto the tree with his coat, he stripped down and took off, this time going for a full transformation, allowing the wolf to run free. Four paws thudded at the ground in a soothing rhythm, the wind rippling through his thick, black fur. His senses sharpened even further, catching the sounds from the castle, the beating wings of a raven 50 yards away, and the shuffling hooves of a unicorn about half a mile south. Just minutes later he found himself playing tag with the luminous white beast, running comfortably through the forest, expelling the pent up energy from the week. 

The moon was low in the sky by the time he was trotting back to his discarded clothing, panting happily from his excursions with the unicorn. He hadn’t realized how much he had needed that outlet, and resolved to shift at least once every two weeks and make a run through the Forest. No doubt he would be exhausted for his early class tomorrow, but at least he’d be in control.

________________________ 

The beating hearts and murmuring voices coming from the room helped calm Derek’s nerves, reminding him that he was walking into an audience of no more than twelve 16 to 18 year olds. He’d faced stadiums full of thousands of people critiquing his every move, so this should be a breeze, right? Still, he steeled his expression and swept into the chamber, walking down the aisle with purpose, not meeting anyone’s gaze. He knew it was better to start off stern and uncompromising if he had any hope of holding the students’ attention and respect.

At the front of the room Derek had to take a moment to gather his thoughts, shuffling some parchment that he intended to hand to his students later in class, but needing something to keep him looking occupied. His stomach clenched with anxiety; this was so much worse than a Quidditch game. But, he took a deep breath, as long as he played it cool, no one would have to know. All he had to do was stay in control. 

He crossed his arms and turned around to look at the class, face hardened, eyebrows drawn in an almost threatening manner as his eyes swept the room, making contact with each pair scattered throughout. Eleven students in total, he could do this. 

Not trusting the strength of his voice at this point in the morning, he cleared his throat, unintentionally loud about it, which snapped the one wandering set of eyes back on him before he began speaking.

“I’m Professor Hale. For many of you, this will be your final year of Defense Against the Dark Arts. I’m hoping it will also be your most challenging year, because the more you’re challenged here, the better chance you’ll have out there.” He didn’t gesticulate; letting his words speak for him, hoping his voice came out authoritative. His hope was dashed as he heard a lazy sigh coming from the 3rd row. 

“Excuse me, but what’s a washed up Quidditch player going to teach us about defense against dark arts?” The voice was laced with confrontation, purposely pushing at Derek to react. His mind raced with options on how to handle this, but his wolf was already straining for the surface, demanding submission from such a challenge, refusing anything less. He shrugged out of his long-coat, allowing it to drop unceremoniously to the floor as he rolled the kinks out of his neck, feeling the shifting of bones as his fangs grew. He looked at the student with his sharpened vision, seeing the new beads of sweat rolling down his temple, and resisted the urge to smile. _Yeah, didn’t know_ what _you were dealing with, did you?_ He coiled his leg muscles and leapt, easily clearing the 7 meters from his podium to the student’s table, landing gracefully, face completely wolfed out into his beta form. The student shook in front of him, and he couldn’t resist the urge to mess with him a bit further, assuring there would be no more dissension from this child. With careful movements he slid a clawed finger down the student’s cheek, and couldn’t help but let loose with a toothy grin.

“Check the syllabus,” he growled, allowing his voice to go lower than normal, punctuating the statement better than any yell. He caught the smell of urine and thought maybe he had overreacted, but there was no way to take it back now. Hopping off the desk, he reverted back to his human-form as he walked to his coat and slid the heavy fabric back over his shoulders, giving himself a moment to really regain his composure. This was very much not how he had planned on revealing his true nature, and he had regretted his behavior the moment his shoes hit the floor. 

Straightening his coat, he turned again to face the class, steeling himself for their reactions. The stench of fear clogged his over-sensitive olfactory glands, so much so he almost missed the spicy curl of arousal, like cayenne and cinnamon mixed together. There was no way to discern where it had come from, but the fact that it existed at all both confused and intrigued Derek. He minutely shook his head and went through the roster, pairing students at random and allowing the boy who had challenged him to leave to change his pants, and was not at all surprised when he failed to return. 

The students grumbled a bit as he tasked them with going over curses and counter-curses from their first and second years, but a quick glare and reminder that sometimes the simplest spell is the one that saves your life kept them working. He meandered through the classroom, taking in the stances and executions he’d have to work with this year. He couldn’t help but keep glancing back at the boy with the long limbs and large grin, recognizing him as Stilinski the moment his eyes saw the name on his roster. He vaguely wondered if he would have been so keen on the name had Finnegan not prompted him to “keep tabs” on him; if he would have immediately matched this practically adult face to the wide eyes and round cheeks he had often caught looking at him years and years ago, without any outside assistance. The boy had good form, easily casting and dodging spells, winning four out of six duels. Derek nodded, just in time for Stilinski to glance over at him, and watched as the boy seemed to smile brighter and stand a little straighter at the encouragement. 

The rest of his classes went without incident, besides students whispering to each other (looks like no one taught them about werewolf hearing) and staring at him, wide-eyed. In every class one to two students neglected to show, even in his level 7 class, and he knew word of his _condition_ had spread through the school like wildfire. He was happy to find Lahey and Argent were not among the deserters, so he could at least fulfill the request of his predecessor, assuming he was allowed to stay. 

He had avoided the teachers' lounge, not quite ready to face his colleagues, and after his final class headed straight to his office, throwing his coat across the green trunk containing some personal effects - the snitch from his final game and a few framed photos - that he hadn’t had the time or energy to take to his room. He slumped into his high-backed chair in a huff, knowing the trials of the day weren’t over yet, even though all he wanted to do was lie down and sleep. He carded his fingers through his dark hair, wondering again what he was doing here, as a curled up parchment apparated on his desk with a _SNAP_. He groaned loudly, undid the black ribbon, and unfurled the lengthy letter.

________________________ 

The rapid heartbeat lingering just outside his door was driving him to distraction, making it damn near impossible to work through all the anger and nuanced threats drawn out through fancy wording. After another minute of listening to the staccato he growled out a “Come in,” hoping the heartbeat would either retreat in fear or follow direction and calm the hell down. He heard a sigh, then the familiar groan of the door as it was tugged open and a young man slipped inside. 

“If this is a bad time, I can-” he started before Derek impatiently waved for him to come in and sit down, eyes never looking away from the letter. The heartbeat eventually slowed into a normal rhythm, enough so that Derek was able to make it through the letter twice, zeroing in on several points he would be sending to Laura, who would no doubt be extremely pissed at him for his actions, but would help him overcome any legal implications. He was suddenly very happy his sister had gone into politics. Satisfied with his plan of immediate defense, he turned his focus on the boy, who currently seemed transfixed by his fraying robes. He easily recognized him as a student from his first class, the only student whose name he could recall almost instantaneously. Stilinski. A snort from the young man caused Derek to raise his brows, wondering what was so amusing about his robes to cause such a reaction. As though he could sense the mild judgment, Stilinski looked up at Derek, a slight flush moving up to his cheeks as he shifted in his seat, sitting up straighter, mouth parting just a bit, but nothing coming out, save a dart of his tongue to wet his lips. Then Derek caught that scent from his first class, after his shift, cayenne and cinnamon, _arousal_. Whether it was for him or whatever the boy had been daydreaming about, Derek couldn’t be sure, but he was definitely intrigued.

“Did you want to talk with me about something, Mr. Stilinski?” He asked, keeping his voice steady and calm, which nevertheless caused the boy to jerk a little, eyes widening before regaining his bearings.

“Uh, yeah, I was wondering, for a 7th year thesis, I had wanted to write about werewolves in our society, and the new laws coming up, and now with you here, I was thinking you’d be a great resource, and maybe even could be my advisor?” Derek caught the lilt at the end of the statement, turning it into a somewhat awkward proposal. To say he was caught off guard would be an understatement; after what he had pulled today all he expected were transfers out of his class and angry, threatening letters from parents and nosy civilians. He watched Stilinski for any signs that might betray his intentions, taking in everything, and maybe scanning a little slower than necessary to appreciate how much the little terror had grown up, filled out. Before he knew what he was doing he found himself nodding, both to the boy’s question and in appreciation for what he saw in front of him. Stilinski let out a sigh of relief, and Derek couldn’t help but prod at him, keeping him there a little longer.

“You’re an interesting one, Mr. Stilinski. You really don’t mind my being here?” At that the boy’s eyes lit up, surprising Derek with his genuine enthusiasm. He was really not expecting anything like this today, or, ever. 

“Hell no! This is probably the best thing to happen to me at Hogwarts! I mean, it’s _you_ , and then to find out you’re a _werewolf_ , icing on the cake, man!” Derek couldn’t help but snort a little at the revelation. The kid was undoubtedly a Quidditch fan, probably a player too by the look of his broad shoulders and long fingers, which he couldn’t seem to keep off of his face and neck. He quickly averted his eyes to the desk, catching the letter that seemed to say everything opposite from what Stilinski just declared. He shook his head.

“Well, it’d be nice if others had your perspective.”

“Is it bad?” The boy leaned forward with what appeared to be genuine concern. Derek shook his head again.

“I was expecting something like this would happen. A few students have dropped the class, some parents are demanding I be taken out of the school, some others are demanding I be taken out back and shot,” he waved a hand down to the parchment, angry words still glaring at him, “same old story.” Again, the look of consternation on Stilinski’s face confused Derek, which might be why he was opening up to him about the situation rather then growling and throwing him bodily out the door. 

“They can’t _make_ you resign, can they? Isn’t that against the law?” Derek snorted.

“Werewolf law isn’t in effect yet, and the Greybacks have set us all back about 50 years in progress. That family’s been a scourge on my kind for centuries. My family’s tried to bring werewolves into a positive light, but it’s slow-going.” The realization of what he’d done and how poorly he’d represented his race and his family hit him like a bag of bricks. He pursed his lips and frowned into his desk, “I guess wolfing out on a kid in class doesn’t exactly help our image.”

“Maybe not, but _man_ , that was awesome,” the boy breathed out, almost causing Derek to smile despite himself. “I want to put that memory in a pensieve just so I can really relive it over and over.” This time Derek could feel the corners of his mouth turn up before he could catch them.

“I still shouldn’t have done it,” he pulled his mouth back into a scowl, “my family prides itself on control.” He grimaced, “I wouldn’t be surprised if I’ve got a howler waiting from my sister already.”

“So you’re a born wolf?” Stilinski leaned forward even further, eyes dancing in fascination. He was definitely the oddest person Derek had come into contact with. But for some reason he couldn’t push him out the door. He narrowed his eyes, wondering what it was about this kid that made him feel at ease, able to answer his questions without growls and threats. 

“Yes, the Hales are old-blood, probably the most pure-blood werewolf family on record, tending to mate with only other born wolves. We see the bite as a gift, not a curse, and not something to throw at just anyone.” He paused, catching the boy’s eyes, honey-brown and so wide and open he felt like he might fall into them if he wasn’t careful. “Not many are meant to handle the power of a wolf.” The boy shivered, just a minute shake of his shoulders, but enough that Derek knew his words had taken effect. Then there it was again, cayenne and cinnamon, but almost as quickly as it had arrived it was gone, replaced with apprehension. 

“Did you, I mean, when you played, being, what you are, did that give you an advantage?” Derek knew what was really meant by this question. Did he cheat? He turned and glared at the wall, the empty portraits glaring right back. Even the paintings didn’t want to be around him right now. He gritted his teeth.

“I reigned it in as much as possible, and never shifted on the field, which would have heightened my abilities tenfold,” he breathed heavily through his nose, closing his eyes, “but it’s impossible to know where the line is in what’s human, and what’s supernatural.” _Although it’s all still_ me, he thought to himself. He looked earnestly at Stilinski, willing the boy to understand his positioning on this, “That’s why I retired. I’ll always be quicker, have better eyesight and hearing, no matter how much I push down the wolf. I figured I could put those skills to a lot better use than catching a golden ball.” The last sentence came out a little more bitterly than he had intended. Playing Quidditch had given him a huge rush and made him feel incredibly guilty at the same time, knowing why he was better than most players. And then the guilt made him angry, because anyone born _normal_ and gifted with strength and speed and coordination would simply be considered innately talented. He was considered a freak and a cheat. He’d let Laura talk him into retiring and joining a group of Aurors tasked with rounding up some rogue trolls and dark wizards. It was in that year that he decided to go the teacher route and applied to Hogwarts.

“Dude,” Derek was brought back to the present, frowning a little at Stilinski’s casualness, but there was no heat behind it, and the boy didn’t seem to care, “there’s nothing wrong with playing and enjoying Quidditch. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re here, but, shit, you played like you loved it.” 

Derek’s breath caught in his chest, eyes wide, trying to fully take in and understand this boy in front of him, that seemed to understand him better than people he’d known for years. He leaned back in his chair, gaze never wavering, until the boy squirmed a bit under his intense focus.

“Why are you here, Mr. Stilinski?” Derek was suddenly desperate to move the conversation back to a professional setting, but kept his voice calm. Stilinski cleared his throat.

“I was wondering if you’d be willing to help me with my thesis project, and maybe be my advisor, which I totally get if you don’t want to be, especially after-”

“Sure.” Derek said quickly, unwilling to allow Stilinski down the path of feelings again. He almost sighed with relief at how that one word had shut the boy’s mouth, but within seconds it was flapping again.

“Oh wow, thanks, are you positive?” Derek furrowed his brows at the continued rambling, “I mean, it’s a lot of work, and it’s your first year here, and I’ve been told I can be kind of a handful-” 

“Are you really trying to talk me out of doing what you’ve just spent twenty minutes trying to talk me _into_ doing?” He raised a single eyebrow, amazed someone could be so intuitive and completely ridiculous at the same time. Stilinski looked down, cheeks beginning to pink, and suddenly Derek wondered if maybe he _shouldn’t_ accept an addendum that would put him in close-working quarters with this boy. He physically willed his heartbeat to slow down.

“I just didn’t want there to be any regrets, you know?” Stilinski shrugged, took a breath, and the pink flush pushed up to the tips of his ears, “It’s just, I’ve always been a huge fan of yours,” he spoke quickly, long fingers carding through his hair, a hand waving in his direction, like Derek thought he might be talking to someone else in the room, “and I don’t want you to end up hating me, and I’m sure you get this all the time, but, you inspired me to try out for the Gryffindor team, and now I’m a seeker, and I just wanted to say thank you.” Derek’s heart fluttered a bit at the confession, surprised he’d had any kind of impact on anyone. All he’d done was go out and catch a golden ball, he’d never really expected anyone else to get something genuine out of it. He felt his features soften as Stilinski, face almost entirely pink now, glanced up, brown eyes nervously darting to his, locking gazes. Derek was in so much trouble.

“You’re welcome, and you’re wrong.” Stilinski raised a brow in confusion, so Derek continued, “I don’t get that all the time. In fact,” he paused, a barely discernible smirk playing on his lips, “that might have been my first fan declaration.”

“Well, maybe if you didn’t walk around like you’re a breath away from hexing everyone-” Derek’s face fell, and, he assumed, that was exactly what Stilinski was talking about, as he watched the boy scramble to regain his conversational footing. “I’m just saying, you’ve got fans out there, they just might be intimidated by all this,” suddenly dexterous fingers were fluttering in front of his face, and Derek blinked rapidly to shake the image of those fingers doing _anything_ else to him far, far away. How had it come to this? It was his first day for Christ sakes. And he was really agreeing to work _extra_ with this kid? _Alone_? Was he a fucking masochist? 

“Um,” Stilinski fidgeted distractingly in his chair, pulling Derek’s glare back to him, “do Wednesdays at 6 work for you? For the thesis? Unless you’ve changed-”

“Yes,” Derek growled out, worried that if this kid didn’t get out of his immediate area in the next 10 seconds he would do something not even Laura could save him from.

“Alright, great, thanks, looking forward to it,” the boy tumbled out of his chair and practically lurched for the door, making Derek wonder what kind of seeker he could be with skills like that. He shook his head as Stilinski pulled open the door and shot out, wondering what the _hell_ he’d just agreed to, and how the _hell_ he was supposed to make it through the year. He took a deep breath of the lingering scent of the boy, and found himself hoping no one else came in for the rest of the evening. Because he had a lot of work to do, with this letter. That was it. The only reason. He took another deep breath and pulled out his quill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All chapter titles (to this point) are quotes snagged from Brad Neely's "Dear Readers: Wizard People" which is absolute genius.
> 
> Apologies to both Harry Potter and Teen Wolf for what I'm doing here.


	4. Badass New Gods

“Oh, son of a bitch,” Stiles muttered as, immediately upon entering the Gryffindor Commons, he was greeted by a Quidditch flyer. Literally. The enchanted parchment flew right in his face, obscuring his vision and generally annoying the shit out of him. He tried to bat it away, but it zipped back around, fluttering just in front of his nose.

“SCOTT!” He called out as he pulled his wand from his back pocket. This damn paper was going down. “ _Inverticus_ ,” he planted the tip of his wand in the middle of what he assumed was supposed to be someone on a broom, and the paper finally stilled and wafted naturally to the ground. He stooped to pick up the flyer just as a pair of feet came thundering down the stairs.

“You called?”

“What the HELL is this?” He shook the limp parchment in front of Scott’s face, as though he were trying to re-enact the life and death of the flyer. Scott’s deep brown eyes widened at the lifeless splaying of the paper.

“You killed it!”

“It was possessed!”

“It was _charmed_.”

“It _attacked_ my _face_. What are you doing charming flyers, anyhow?” Scott snagged the crumpled paper from his hand.

“I thought it would be a good tactic, to get people to come to the pre-tryout workshop on Wednesday.”

“Shit, Wednesday?” Stiles reached over and grabbed the flyer back from Scott, who scoffed a little indignantly at the sudden action. Sure enough, _WEDNESDAY, AT 5_ ” skittered around the page. No wonder Stiles hadn’t noticed it before; it never seemed to be in the same place twice. “Dude, Wednesdays are _not_ good for me.”

“What? Why?”

“Because,” and suddenly Stiles remembered why he’d been so eager to get up here before he had been brutally attacked, “I, using my impressive wit and charms, have swayed no other than Derek _Fucking_ Hale to be my thesis advisor. We meet on Wednesdays at 6. Hence,” he thrust the paper back at Scott, “Wednesdays are _not_ good for me.”

“I honestly don’t know if I should congratulate you or call you a freakin’ idiot,” Scott snatched the paper, once more, from Stiles’ fingers, and this time crumpled it up and tossed it behind him. So much for that attachment. “I know you kind of have a… _thing_ for werewolves, but seriously Stiles, they’re dangerous. You probably shouldn’t go locking yourself in a room with one.” Stiles’ pulse quickened at the thought of being locked in a room with Der- Professor Hale for hours at a time. This was literally the best idea he’s ever had.

“Come on dude, I told you, the guy’s got like, super control. And he’s the only one that will be able to help me on my thesis, so it’s not like I have much of a choice.”

“You could write about something else…” Stiles tossed a sideways glance at Scott, a look he was all too accumulated with from years and years of knowing that, when Stiles had his mind set on something, no amount of coaxing would convince him otherwise. It was the same look that almost got them expelled, twice, within the same semester. Scott sighed.

“Fine. After this, all practices will be held anytime besides Wednesday. Better?” Stiles nodded magnanimously.

“Yeah, guess I’ll just have to skip out of this one early. You, Danny, and Liv should have things covered, right?”

“Oh yeah, shouldn’t be a problem. Now,” Scott slung his arm around Stiles’ shoulders, “let’s head down to the hall and get some food. I’m starving.”  
______________

Turned out no gimmicks were needed to rouse interest in trying out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Wednesday rolled around quickly, and by the time Stiles and Scott brought out the gear at 4:30 there were already 12 people waiting on the pitch, and not just overexcited first years. As they began setting up more people trickled in, some looking nervous, others with a set determination in their eyes.

“I guess we can have a second string?” Scott murmured while looking over the slowly growing crowd. Stiles shrugged, knowing it would be hard for Scott’s bleeding heart to turn anyone away, but agreeing that having backup players as insurance wasn’t a bad idea. They’d gotten away with having just the seven main players last year, and in the end it worked out beautifully, but now they were down three experienced players, and Stiles didn’t want the same fate to fall to the team next year.

“Whatever you say, Cap’n.” Scott rolled his eyes theatrically as he unbundled the school-issue brooms. They definitely didn’t bring enough. Fortunately he had his own Thundercracker (he was dying to get a Skywarp, but knew they were way out of his budget for the time being), which he’d attached to a summoning spell. He kind of loved calling for it from far away, holding his hand out patiently, just waiting for the smooth wooden handle to come slamming into his palm. He’d gotten to the point where he could feel it just before impact, and would ready his whole body to swing onto it in one smooth motion, going from zero to sixty in a second. It was exhilarating, and made people gasp and look at him in awe, which, not gonna lie, he totally dug. He’d probably do it once practice started up, just to give the newbies a little show.

By 5 o’clock around 35 people had gathered at the pitch, looking expectantly at the returning players. Stiles nudged Scott, nodding toward the crowd. He had every faith that Scott would be an amazing team captain; he just needed a push every now and then. Scott straightened his stance and took a couple steps forward.

“This is our first pre-practice before tryouts next week. We’re looking to replace a beater and two chasers, but will also be adding in a second string, since we have three graduates this year, and, well, about 30 people wanting to play. The goal today is just to go over the basics, get a feel for the talent we’re working with here. No decisions will be made today. Official tryouts are next Friday, and we’ll have another practice like this Monday and Thursday.” Stiles tried not to beam too brightly at Scott for stepping up like he did. The dark-haired boy shot a look back at him, receiving a grin and a discreet thumbs up, before continuing.

“Okay, there aren’t enough brooms for everyone, so, I guess, let’s get into groups. People interested in becoming a chaser go with Olivia, keepers go with Danny, seekers with Stiles, and beaters stay with me. Everyone will get a chance to get up and show off what you’ve got.” Scott turned back around to his existing team, standing shoulder to shoulder, arms crossed uniformly. Looking like total fucking badasses.

“Okay, I figure we each get 3 brooms, show them the ropes, then pull the best ones and have a little scrimmage against them,” Stiles suggested. Scott nodded, looking over to Danny and Olivia for confirmation. They both bobbed their heads in agreement, smiles threatening to break through their previously serious demeanors, which got Scott and Stiles grinning like idiots as well. This was awesome, everything about this was so awesome.

“Don’t be too hard on them, Liv, you’ve got the most to gather,” Danny hip-checked the tall girl as they began gathering their brooms. She didn’t even waiver, despite Danny’s impressive build, her feet planted securely to the ground. Stiles always thought if she didn’t make such a fantastic chaser she would have been a killer keeper. 

“I make no promises. We’ve got a reputation to uphold,” she grinned, tucking the three school brooms under her right arm while her personal Firebolt was held in her left. Stiles took this chance to muss up her short, black hair, receiving an indignant squawk and a kick for his efforts. Olivia was a 6th year, and the fastest flier Stiles had ever seen besides Derek Hale. She could probably play any position, but had a certain flare for being a chaser, once scoring so many points it almost hadn’t mattered that Stiles had caught the snitch. She also didn’t put up with any shit. Like, ever. In short, she was a grade A badass.

The massive group had parted into four dilapidated sections. Danny had the smallest faction at only four, but Stiles was a close second with seven, which was really not surprising. People tended to (erroneously) think being a keeper was boring, and being a seeker was too hard, so they were often the positions least sought after. Scott and Liv had their work cut out for them, and Stiles almost offered them an extra broom as Danny had, but remembered he also had limited time today, so he’d hang onto his provisions for now, maybe be a gentleman next time. 

“Alright little seekerlings, seeklets, we’re heading east-side.” He turned with a flourish, three brooms clutched in his left hand, as his right fished around in his pocket until his fingers grasped the cool metallic ball. He ran his pads over the delicate inscriptions, knowing each snitch was uniquely inscribed, and he was intimately acquainted with this particular snitch from years of practice. When the group had reached the entrance to the eastern stands he turned to face them, tossing the three brooms into the group, noting who shied away, who made a mad-grab, and to whom the brooms seemed to naturally gravitate.

“Okay, those with brooms, you’re obviously first,” he clicked the small nub at the top of the snitch and laid his palm flat, allowing the golden ball to perform its sideways striptease and hover an inch above his hand before zipping off into the blue. The three on brooms looked eager to chase after it, glancing between Stiles and the spot in the sky they had seen it disappear into. He grinned, “Your head start lasts until my broom reaches my hand. Go.” In an instant they were off, darting at three different angles, all looking for an edge on the others. Stiles’ grin remained as he spoke a quick spell under his breath and held out his hand, knowing without looking that all remaining eyes were plastered on him rather than the proceedings in the sky. He slowly closed his eyes, swearing he could _hear_ the air slicing around his broom as it zipped through corridors, making its way from his dormitory (Stiles always left the window open for this express purpose, it drove Scott crazy) to his outstretched hand. He released a slow breath, knowing it was close, his fingers tingling with energy. _Five, four, three, two_ , his eyes shot open as he flung his body up, landing flawlessly onto the smooth wood and shooting into the sky, barely catching the “OH MY GOD!” from one of the bystanders as the air screamed past his ears. He shot a look down at the grass, seeing three people rushing to get into the stands, and one still standing below, frozen to the spot. He laughed openly and tilted his handle, making a quick loop around the pitch. He zipped effortlessly around the other groups, performing quick ass-grabs on Scott, Danny, and Olivia before heading back to his attendees. He nodded quickly to the four waiting in the stands, then shot into the air, eyes searching for players and the snitch alike. 

He watched patiently as the three players soared overhead, no discernible patterns in their flying, aimlessly jutting here and there, likely hoping the snitch would just plop into their laps. Granted it had happened to Stiles _once_ , but that had been a beautiful, beautiful fluke. 

The wind blew around his face, sifting through his hair, and just for a moment he closed his eyes against the sensation, reveling in the fact that he was back where he belonged. He would never dare do this in an actual game; his eyes were always open, fingers at the ready, barely chancing to blink in case he missed a flash of gold in the distance. But now, he just wanted to enjoy the feeling of, well, everything this game had to offer. He knew after this year it was likely his game-days were over, besides the possible get-together between school friends when, _if_ , they found the time. Damn, he never really thought about how much growing up could suck. 

He noticed two of the flyers had stopped their mad dashing and were watching him instead of the sky, mimicking his methods of sitting and waiting. Pretending to not notice them noticing him, he raised his eyebrows and feigned right, causing his two shadows to go shooting that way as he chuckled, flipped himself, and headed the opposite direction, where he had seen a glint of gold reflecting the sun. He was surprised to find the third flyer just ahead of him, and contemplated giving this one to her. But, he knew it wouldn’t actually make her better, nor give him an idea of how she would handle an opponent, so he kicked his speed up and lowered his body closer to the handle. He easily gained on her, having the superior broom, and could now see the distinct shape of the snitch zipping around in front of them. He saw the twitch just before the golden ball plummeted to the ground, and was surprised to find his opponent still neck in neck with him. She had some chops, definitely some chops. At this point he did pull back a bit, wanting to see how she would handle the approach. Fingers outstretched, red curls streaming behind her, she leaned forward and did a barrelroll as she grabbed the enchanted orb. Stiles grinned and clapped as he watched her glide breathlessly to the stands, probably overwhelmed with the fact that she had really done it. 

His piercing whistle summoned the other two players, who were told to give up their brooms to those waiting, while Janey, the 4th year who had caught the snitch, was permitted another round. Stiles reset the ball and set it off again, this time just watching the proceedings, making mental note after mental note. In the end Janey had been just a breath away from catching it a second time, losing out to a lean, dark skinned boy who had been just a hair faster. 3rd round went to a gangly boy with a buzzcut that Stiles couldn’t help but feel a little kinship with. 

“Okay! Sudden death, you three have 6 minutes to catch the snitch, whoever manages to do so gets to face off against me in the scrimmage. GO!” They were off in the blink of an eye, and Stiles took a second to glance over to the other groups, noticing the chasers had already congregated on the ground, and the keepers were heading that way as well. He kind of hoped one of his seeker underlings would catch the snitch soon, so they could get this scrimmage underway. His body absolutely thrummed with energy and a need to chase and strategize. 

Two minutes later Janey came zipping over, snitch in her hand, red curls a tangled mess over her head, green eyes wide and shining, and the biggest smile he’d ever seen stretched across her face. He grinned and gave her a high-five, then led everyone down to the grass to meet up with the rest of the group.

The teams were set: four returning players versus six promising participants. Stiles’ doppleganger played referee as he blew a whistle and tossed the snitch into the air, signifying the start of the game. Like a rocket everyone was off, Scott playing double duty as he attempted to protect his team from the bludgers, while Olivia clutched the quaffle to her chest, expertly evading opponents and bludgers alike as she made her way to the three rings, easily lobbing the red ball past the inexperienced keeper. Stiles pried his eyes away from the action, focusing on his own task. Janey was flying around about ten feet above him, broom in constant motion, a tactic Stiles had used a few years ago before he found the advantages of staying still and observing. 

However, today that was not an option, as they had one beater and two bludgers, meaning Stiles had to be doubly aware of his surroundings, looking for the snitch while evading the random trajectories of the solid attack-spheres. He had a couple close calls and near misses, with Scott doing an amazing job at knocking the threat back and at the opposing team. Everyone was playing well, and more than that, everyone was smiling and genuinely enjoying themselves. Even the newbies had grins plastered to their wind-reddened faces, reveling in the feeling of the game. Stiles almost hated to end it as he caught the flash of gold out of the corner of his left eye, but couldn’t fight the instincts to chase and secure his tiny prey, like a fox after a canary. 

Janey was on him within seconds, but nowhere near as fast. Stiles didn’t let up, following the erratic flying of the snitch, his broom moving at the slightest twitch of his muscles. He felt droplets of sweat stream from his temples as he pushed himself harder, eyes narrowed on the golden ball, now just a few feet ahead of him. A few of his fancier moves flitted through his head (more than a few of which he’d stolen (or as he likes to think of it, permanently misappropriated) from Derek Hale’s smorgasbord of skills) before he decided on just grabbing the damn thing, as the brief flicker of Hale reminded him of his meeting, which he was sure he was already late for. 

Doppleganger’s whistle blew as Stiles’ long fingers closed around the snitch. Final score was 60 to 280, meaning the opposing team, their possible future teammates, had managed to score on them 6 times in 20 minutes. It also meant Olivia had either been killing it out there, making 13 goals singlehandedly while dodging 3 other chasers and 2 bludgers, or they’d have to keep looking for a backup keeper. Stiles wishes he knew which scenario was more valid, and realized they may need another keen set of eyes on the pitch next time to evaluate such circumstances. 

“Good game! Sorry, but I’ve got to run!” He shouted breathlessly as he skidded to a halt where all the players had gathered. Scott gave him a nod as a few of the newbies shot him a forlorn look. He grinned and gave a quick wave, “I’ll see you all on Monday, I promise I’ll stay the whole time then!” Then motioned for Scott. The other boy jogged lightly to him, sweat glistening on his forehead. “If you guys want to keep playing, I think Janey would be good as my replacement, see how she plays with the team, and have Jameson,” he nodded towards the lean, dark-skinned boy hanging around the edges, “join the opposing team. Let me know which one gets the snitch.”

“Aye Aye, Cap’n,” Scott salutes and smiles, receiving a quick shake of the head and a finger point from Stiles. 

“Uh uh, you won that privilege.”

“Dean drew _from a hat_!”

“Would a captain ditch his team for academic purposes?” Stiles asked as he began to saunter backwards, swinging his broom behind him so the handle rested over his broad shoulders. Scott laughed and waved him off before turning back to the waiting players, who had been watching the exchange with rapt attention. Stiles was debating flying versus walking when his eyes caught the clock tower and he cursed under his breath while hopping onto his broom and jetting into the air. 

 

__________

“Sorry, sorry I’m late!” Stiles shouted as he threw open the door to the office, quidditch gear still on, broom in hand, sweat trickling down the sides of his face. Not a great second (or third?) impression. Hale’s eyes narrowed from behind the desk at the intrusion, his nostrils flaring a bit, and Stiles realized how bad of an idea it was to come into close quarters with a _werewolf_ after sweating buckets. He couldn’t even imagine how horribly he must smell to the man’s sensitive nose.

“It’s fine,” Hale growled out, nostrils flaring again, causing Stiles to wince. He seriously was going to screw this thing up. By next week he was sure Hale wouldn’t want anything to do with him, which depressed him far more than it probably should. This wasn’t a teacher’s pet kind of thing, and he didn’t want Hale to tolerate him just because he had to. He wanted Hale to _like_ him. To genuinely enjoy his company, maybe even look forward to these meetings. It was a ridiculous thing to want so much for, but Stiles couldn’t help it.

“Quidditch stuff,” he stuttered out. Hale raised an eyebrow, nodding toward his arm guards.

“I gathered.” There were a few beats of silence, with Stiles shifting nervously and Hale clenching his fingers, Stiles assumed in an effort to not throw him out of the cramped office in disgust. 

“So, um, how’s it going?” Stiles asked, grimacing a little at the small talk. Hale narrowed his eyes. He seemed to do that a lot.

“Fine.” Then, after a beat, “How was practice?” Stiles lit up a bit.

“Good! Well, it’s kind of a pre-practice thing, we’ve got to replace three players this year.”

“That’s rough,” Stiles fought off a fist-pump at the conversational floodgates that have been raised just enough for a trickle to get through.  
“I know, right? The most any other team needs to find is two, and Ravenclaw’s all returning, so, yeah, we need to squeeze in as much training as possible,” he rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, brushing off the sweat droplets still clinging to his hair. This was good. Common interests and all. Hale watched the movement of his hand before snapping his eyes up to meet Stiles’.

“So, Mr. Stilinski-”

“Actually, if it’s okay, I’d really prefer to just go by Stiles, when it’s just you and me. If that’s okay,” he reiterated, suddenly feeling like maybe he was being too pushy or presumptuous. Hale made a bit of a face.

“Stiles?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s what everyone calls me. Even my dad. I haven’t gone by my first name since I was five. I don’t even think I’d know what to do if I heard someone say it.” Stiles was expecting, well, he didn’t really know what he was expecting, but he was definitely _not_ expecting a laugh, short burst that it was. His eyebrows shot up at the other man, widening his already huge eyes. Derek Hale was smiling. At him. It was like the sun after nothing but rain for a month. It was _glorious_.

“To be honest, your first name was the reason I decided to call everyone by their surnames,” Hale couldn’t hide his grin, and Stiles drank it up like a life-force. It was literally one of the best things he’d ever seen.

“I feel strangely proud of that,” Stiles quirked his lips up into a smile, wondering how long he could keep the sun shining. Hale huffed out another quick laugh, a somewhat harsh sound, which Stiles assumed was due to the fact that he was trying to hold it back. His new goal, since he’d unlocked the Smile achievement, was to hear a genuine, full-bellied laugh out of his professor. 

“Okay then, Stiles, what exactly is your thesis?” Stiles was almost crestfallen to move from their slight banter to the actual reason for the meeting, but knew it had to happen sooner or later. Hale was back to all business, but appeared to be more relaxed than when he’d first burst into the room.

“I was thinking, _Werewolves and Society: The impact of ‘Werewolf Law’ on humans and half-humans_. So I would be able to cover both sides of the law, shut everyone up.” 

“That’s pretty daunting, you sure you want to take all that on?” Hale asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’ll have to become an expert on all the laws, and interview half-humans, and not just me.”

“Yeah, I know, but, it’s pretty much the only thing I want to _really_ learn about right now. And it’s important, probably one of the most important things to happen in our society in decades, centuries even, and I can’t believe how many people just have _no clue_. So, yeah, it’s going to be a shitload of work, but, I mean, it’s worth it.” He shrugged his shoulders, feeling a burn in his ears as he felt like he admitted too much, but Hale just nodded, face as stoic as ever.

“Alright then, let’s get started.”  
__________________________________

 

The smell was intoxicating. That was the only word for it, making his head spin with every breath. It was almost funny how humans’ perception of sweat was so different from his own; they generally found it disgusting, and Derek guessed it could be, depending on the person, but in this case it was just concentrated _Stiles_ , and practically made his mouth water. They boy had busted into his room about twenty minutes late, all limbs and broom handle, sweating and spewing apologies, and it was all Derek could do to not jump on him and shove his nose into his neck and just _inhale_. He actually gripped the desk so hard he was sure there were dents, even though he’d kept his claws carefully retracted. 

After a few minutes of careful breathing and focus he was able to sit across the desk from Stiles without an overpowering urge to maul him. They were going through the first few subsections of the proposed laws, highlighting important or controversial passages to build off of. Derek slid in extra knowledge where he could, internally preening at the way Stiles’ face would light up with every bonus fact, long fingers gripping his quill as he scrawled quickly in the margins of his parchment. 

“This is, I mean wow, this is perfect!” Stiles beamed as he reread his added on notes. Derek allowed himself a barely-there grin, proud of himself for doing right by at least one student so far this year, even if the scent of said student drove him to the edge of his self-control. But control was something he was known for, what his family had been known for, and he would maintain it. He had to.

“I can try to arrange a fireplace meeting with Aleksandar, a vampire I’d met in Romania a few years back.” A quill clattered to the floor as Stiles blinked rapidly, trying to regain function of his basic motor skills. His mouth dropped open, tongue darting out distractingly before he finally was able to speak once more.

“Professor Hale, you are, without a doubt, the _best_ teacher I’ve ever had! A vampire? _Really_?” His voice lilted on the last word, and Derek released a small grin.

“I’ll send him an owl first thing tomorrow morning. For now, it’s getting late, and we’ve both got early classes,” he pitched his eyebrows up in a reminder that, in fact, Stiles had _his_ class first thing in the morning.

“Oh wow, I didn’t even realize it was that late,” and as if on cue, the boy’s stomach rumbled loud enough that Derek would have heard it without his enhanced hearing. Stiles looked up at him in surprise, “You made me skip dinner!” Derek drew his eyebrows together, about to point out that Stiles himself had chosen the meeting time, but he was already continuing on, “I’ve _never_ skipped dinner, especially here, nothing would keep me away, not even when Lydia asked me to watch her potion. Oh man, she was pissed, but it had been steak and Cornish pasty night, and it was _worth_ it.” His eyes took on a faraway look for a moment, “I wonder what they had tonight,” he said in a small voice before he shook his head lightly and focused on Derek once more. After a moment of deliberation, Derek rolled his eyes and stood up.

“Come on,” he jerked his head toward the door and walked out of the small office. Wordlessly (amazingly), Stiles followed. Derek was sure Stiles knew at least twelve different ways to sneak into the kitchen, but it was a little thrilling for him to be using his old route, one of the few illegal acts he would pull during his time at Hogwarts. Biologically werewolves needed more fuel, since they burned energy at a higher rate, but Derek hadn’t wanted to arouse suspicion, so he kept his portions at ‘teenage boy’ level, rather than ‘teenage werewolf’, which always left him practically starving just an hour or so afterwards. Really, stealing into the kitchen was more about survival than gorging on illicit goods, but the illegality of it somehow made all the food taste even better. 

“I just want to say this is awesome,” Stiles whispered at the lowest decibel he could manage, aware that Derek could hear him after their quick chat about werewolf hearing and the need to protect others’ privacy while not impeding on basic rights. A tricky subject to say the least. Derek pressed a finger to his own lips, indicating a need for total silence, before turning back around and leading them through a twist of narrow halls. Hogwarts was practically made for sneaking around, with all its unnecessary false walls, tunnels, and trap doors. As a kid he had been just as worried about stumbling over a pile of bones, the sad remains of one who had gotten irrevocably lost within the walls, as he was of getting caught. Fortunately neither happened, and he was left with, as far as he knew, the most circuitous and secret passageway into the kitchens. 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Stiles breathed as Derek moved a shelf out of the way, allowing them access to the sacred grounds, “it’s more beautiful than I’d ever imagined.” Derek quirked an unbelieving eyebrow at his new partner in crime.

“You’re telling me you’ve never snuck into the kitchen before?”

“No way! Have you seen how protective those house elves are of their creations? I’m too scared to cross them. Why do you think I was always so diligent about dinner?” He paused and took in his surroundings, and Derek reveled in the fact that he had known how to get somewhere the unstoppable Stilinski had never cracked. 

“Well, come on. Food from the day is kept over here,” he guides him to a massive cooler, filled to the brim with platters and bowls containing the entrees and side dishes from supper and lunch. Stiles could barely contain his excitement as he started grabbing at chicken legs and pasta bowls, building a small smorgasbord before Derek huffed a laugh and joined him, piling his plate up even higher than Stiles’. They ate in silence, with only chewing, swallowing, and the occasional burp breaking through the quiet. It wasn’t until he’d torn, a bit savagely, into the turkey leg that he’d realized how hungry he’d been as well. Somehow time working with Stiles just flew by; he had anticipated either being done, or at the very least breaking for dinner, but they’d worked right past the daily dinner call at 7 to 9:30, a half hour before curfew. It felt like it had been an hour, at the most.

“Oh my god, this is amazing,” Stiles groaned from where he sat on Derek’s right, holding his stomach and pushing his empty plate farther away on the floor. Derek nodded, finishing up his rice pudding before following suit. 

“This was a daily thing for me, back when I attended,” again, he was surprised how easy it was to open up to this person, “I figured it out, and then I would bring Laura back here and we’d eat until we were finally full. Now, since Deaton, and I guess everyone, knows I’m a werewolf, I don’t have to hide how much I need to eat.” A wan smile crossed his lips, “But it’s kind of nice to visit again.” He looked over just in time to see Stiles jerk his head forward, as though he didn’t want to be caught staring.

“Is,” Stiles’ tongue darted out, wetting his lips unconsciously, “was Laura your girlfriend?” Derek smiled and shook his head.

“No, sister. She’s a few years older than me, works in the Ministry. I’ll set up a meeting with her for you, she’s been instrumental in advancing Werewolf Law.” This time Stiles didn’t try to hide the stare, eyes wide, lips parted in a way that was entirely too dangerous to Derek’s sanity.

“I know I said it before, and I know you probably don’t believe me, but you really are the best ever. I don’t even think Professor Finnegan would have gone to all this trouble just for one student’s thesis.” Derek felt his cheeks begin to burn, glad for the darkness of the room. Was he going overboard on this? Would he have done as much for any of his other students? He almost hoped someone else would approach him about thesis help, so he would know this was all because he wanted to be a good teacher, not due to a possible, albeit unreasonable, infatuation. He still wasn’t sure what it was that drew him to Stiles, that, if he was being honest, had _always_ drawn him to Stiles. Even in a crowded room he’d been able to zero in on the 1st year within seconds, back when they were both students. There was never anything more to it, no carnal wanting, just a constant awareness of the boy. But now, after a four-year hiatus, it came back at him, stronger than before. He knew he was going to have to be careful, watch his reactions and instincts. But he was a Hale. He had control.

“You need to get back to your dorm,” he responded, ignoring the compliment and steering back into the safety of school rules. “You’ve got about 6 minutes until check. Can you find your way back out?” Stiles nodded, glancing back at the shelf they’d entered from.

“I think so, I was trying to memorize it so I could come back here. I should be okay. And if not, well, I guess you’ll know when I don’t show for class.”

“We’ll send the ghosts after you. Now don’t be late.” For check. To class. Not even Derek knew which he meant. Stiles saluted and disappeared into the catacombs, leaving Derek to clean the mess they’d created.


	5. Teachers, Get Your Spellbags

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “ _Impedimenta_ ,” before Stiles could react his legs seemed to tangle around themselves and hurl him to the ground. He glared up at a now grinning Professor Hale.
> 
> “That’s dirty dueling.”
> 
> “So counter the next one,” the professor readied his wand for another attack, “ _Langlock_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for explanation of spells~

The light from the prefect’s lantern bounced around the corner just as Stiles reached his door. He eased it open and slipped inside soundlessly, his heart beating a mile a minute. Not from the fear of getting caught out after curfew, but from the situation he’d just come from. Hale, sneaking him into the kitchen. Hale, opening up to him, telling him about his time at Hogwarts. Hale, sitting next to him, so close Stiles could have reached over and brushed the crumbs off of his stubble, traced his jawline- 

“Dude, where’ve you been?” Scott called from where he lay splayed out on his bed, causing Stiles to jerk back to the present. 

“Uh, would you believe working on my thesis?”

“For 4 hours?”

“It’s a _really_ good topic.” Scott groaned and pulled his pillow over his head.

“Ugh, I so don’t want to know.”

“Ohmygod, Scott, nothing _happened_ ,” Stiles said, slipping out of his pants and kicking them across the room, “we were going through the law proposals and lost track of time. Honest. And then…” he trailed off, his eyes taking on a dreamy state. Scott mistook this as a look of lust and started sputtering again on how he didn’t want to know. Stiles laughed and flung himself onto Scott’s bed, wrestling the pillow away from him and getting his legs hopelessly tangled in the sheets. 

“You have to listen! Hale took me to a magical place, where dreams come true and you want to lick everything-” the noise Scott made was somewhere between a squawk and a snarl, making Stiles laugh all the harder. “No, but seriously dude, he taught me how to sneak into the kitchens. The _kitchens_ , Scott!”

“What?” Scott shot up, no longer wrestling for bed-dominance, “We could never breach the kitchen! What was it like? Tell me everything!” Stiles snatched the pillow out of Scott’s pliant grip, placed it behind him and settled against the now cushioned headboard. 

“Gather round my son, and I shall tell you a tale…”  
__________________________________

Morning came way too soon, finding Stiles still on Scott’s bed, not quite cuddling, but definitely touching. Stiles had to admit he’s down with a little “just friends” spooning, but was grateful his front was facing the opposite direction of Scott, as his morning wood raged after a night full of images of kitchens, stubble, rice pudding, tongues… yep, it was definitely time to get up. Untangling himself from the sheets, he rolled the short distance (it was a double, and he and Scott were both pretty broad dudes) off the mattress, padding lightly across the room. He heard Scott snuffle a little bit at his sudden absence, but then starfished out to reclaim the body-warmed space, sighing contentedly. Stiles shook his head, smiling fondly as he made his way into the private bathroom, one of the many perks of being bros with the Head Boy. While the rest of the students on his floor were sharing a communal bathroom, he and Scott got to use the one connecting their room to Danny’s. It was a pretty sweet deal.

By the time he’d finished getting ready it was a quarter to 8:00. Scott was still snuggled in bed, damn him and his late-start classes, clutching a pillow to his chest. Stiles pulled on his robes, grabbed his wand and his books, and ran out the door. He’d thought about getting to class early again, on the chance that Hale would be there as well, but this was probably better. He certainly didn’t need to come across as clingy or desperate, no matter how much he’d enjoyed spending extra time with him. 

He slid into the classroom five minutes early, and was still one of the last to arrive. What was more surprising though were the new faces, people who must have picked up the class _after_ they found out Hale was a werewolf. Or that he had played professional quidditch. Or perhaps after they realized how devastatingly handsome he was. Stiles couldn’t help but glare a little at a pack of giggling girls sitting near the front. There was no way they had 5 years of DADA under their belt. He sat in the same seat he’d had last time, Shantal next to him, her robe draped over the chair in the universal sign of “savesies”. 

“Thanks,” he said, settling onto the smooth wood, then jerking his head toward the gaggle of girls, “what’s with the newbies?” Shantal rolled her eyes, nodding to the front where Hale stood stoically, back to the room. Stiles wondered if he planned on starting all his classes like this.

“Blame Hottie McHale.”

“Oh god, please don’t tell me that’s what people are calling him.”

“If the moniker fits…”

“I’m not saying he’s _not_ , I’m just saying it’s so uninspired!” Shantal snorted and reached for the muffin he’d grabbed from the breakfast cart on his way to class. He swatted her hand away and shoved half of it into his mouth. No way was he giving up the precious little breakfast he had today.

“Fine then, what would you call him?”

 _Derek_ , his brain immediately supplied, causing him choke a little on the crumbs. Making up a ridiculous nickname for the most attractive teacher in the world was one thing, but calling him by his first name? Obviously it was a level of closeness his subconscious wanted, but he had to play the reality card here. Hale was his professor, and before that he was a professional quidditch player, and before _that_ he was a school-hero Adonis. At no juncture in his life would it have been appropriate for Stiles to saunter up and call Hale _Derek_. But he wanted it. Oh god, he wanted it more than was rationally acceptable. 

“A Cadillac of Men,” he supplied finally, causing Shantal to blink in confusion. He grinned, unwilling to supply an explanation as Hale finally turned to address the class. There was an audible sigh from all corners of the room that made Stiles want to jump up and block Hale from their view. 

“Anyone just joining the class, I need your transfer papers signed by the headmaster indicating you have all the prerequisites to attend this particular session. If you don’t have them, I have to ask you to leave.” Of the fifteen new people, only one had actually gone through the ropes to get into the class. Stiles recognized him as the beater for Hufflepuff’s team, a massive guy with dark skin and a stoic exterior. Hale accepted his paper and gestured for him to take a seat, then waited patiently for rest of the interlopers to exit. A few of the girls cast longing looks back towards the front of the room, and Stiles wanted to hustle them out faster. Because he’s here to learn, damnit. Yeah, that’s right. 

The door finally shut, and Hale let out a noticeable breath, causing Stiles to quirk up an eyebrow. He wasn’t kidding, he really had no idea what to do about fans.

“If everyone could turn to page 394, we’ll get started.”

Class resumed as normally as possible, students reading up on will-o-the-wisps, how dark wizards might use them, and how others might defend against them. Then for the last fifteen minutes they practiced hexes and counter-hexes. Stiles turned to Shantal for his partner, but she was already halfway across the room, practically throwing herself at Boyd, the new class recruit. Stiles couldn’t really blame her, but was still frustrated to be left partner-less. He glanced around to see everyone else paired up, mostly with whomever they had been working with on Monday, back when there had only been ten students. 

“Need a hand?” Stiles tried his level best not to jump at the sudden voice behind him, but was pretty sure he’d failed spectacularly, especially as he caught the small upturn of Hale’s mouth as he turned.

“Maybe you should have kept one of those vapid girls around to keep the class at an even number for duels.”

“Yeah… that was not what I was expecting. Kind of the opposite, actually.” Hale said, lips pursed as he eyed the door warily, as though any second a flock of adolescents was going to come storming through, demanding he teach them. Or strip for them. 

“Never underestimate the power of a pretty face,” the words tumbled out of Stiles’ mouth before he could really register what he was saying, and whom he was saying it to. Hale’s eyebrows furrowed, but surprisingly his face had an air of confusion rather than anger.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, oh god, nothing, seriously. I’m, uh, just gonna go join in on Boyd and Shantal’s rotation, so I better get-” 

“ _Impedimenta_ ,” before Stiles could react his legs seemed to tangle around themselves and hurl him to the ground. He glared up at a now grinning Professor Hale.

“That’s dirty dueling.”

“So counter the next one,” the professor readied his wand for another attack, “ _Langlock_.” 

Stiles was ready this time; he easily deflected the curse, which would have bound his tongue to the roof of his mouth, before releasing his tangled legs and jumping to his feet, ready to go on the offense.

“Like I wouldn’t know how to deflect _that_ curse. Come on. _Blaberous_!” To his disappointment Hale deflected expertly. It wasn’t so much that he wanted to get a hit on the professor, though that would be sweet, but more that he really wanted to see what kind of nonsense Derek Hale might babble under the curse. Hale shook his head at the attempt, causing Stiles to shrug in a way that said, ‘can you blame me?’

“ _Descendo!_ ”

“ _Jellilegs Jinx!_ ”

Back and forth, back and forth, teacher and student hurling low level curses and jinxes, almost playful in their choices. The other students began to abandon their own duels to watch, the rustle of bets and cash drowned out by the shouts of the two contenders. 

Stiles had ended up with robes that were about two sizes too small and hair grown out about four inches and hanging awkwardly in his face, but he’d actually managed to get a hit on Hale, which resulted in cementing the professor to the floor. For Stiles it would have meant certain doom and his ass in the air, but Hale seemed to use it to his advantage, lobbing ever more spells at him. Finally his wand was hit with an “ _Expelliarmus_ ,” and the duel was over. Stiles was actually relieved, in all honesty, running his fingers through his sweat dampened, way-too-long hair. He was clapped on the back by a couple of hands, and only then realized the audience they had procured. Hale quickly unstuck himself and walked over to shake hands with Stiles, a formality generally done before and after all non-threatening duels.

“So, without the initial handshake, this doesn’t count, right?” Stiles asked as their right hands clasped, trying to ignore how effortlessly they fit together, how wonderfully warm Hale’s palm was, how his thumb grazed his knuckles, causing involuntary shivers down his spine. Damnit, handshakes were not allowed to be sexy. This was getting ridiculous.

“Don’t want to mar your record?”

“Nah, more looking for a make-up duel. I really need to land _rictusempra_ , for reasons.” 

Hale actually let a smile through, “Never gonna happen.” And with that their hands dropped and Hale dismissed the class. Stiles had the urge to meander around until he was alone with Hale, but Shantal was already waiting for him at the door, dangling his wand with pinched fingers, like an enticing doggy treat. He rolled his eyes and grabbed up his books, chancing a look back at Hale, who had walked to the front of the room to set up for his next session. Stiles mentally berated himself, Hale so didn’t have time to unintentionally pander to his burgeoning crush, he had actual things to do. And Stiles, Stiles needed to get a better grip on reality.

“Soooo, _that_ was some duel,” Shantal said as Stiles reached out to grab his wand back from her. And maybe he was imagining it, but he was sure he’d heard Hale huff out a laugh from the front of the room.  
__________________________________

“So hey, since we’re done after this, I thought it might be good to get some flying time in. Just for fun, I feel like it’s been forever since we’ve done that.” Scott said as they made their way down the slick stone steps. Stiles bobbed his head with the downward motion, but nevertheless nodded vigorously at Scott’s suggestion.

“Yeah, that’d be great, did we want to ask- aw shit!” He suddenly stopped, causing Scott to bump into him.

“What?”

“My broom! All my quidditch gear, it’s still in Hale’s office! I completely forgot about it last night.” Scott was looking at Stiles as though he’d grown another head, which, actually not the weirdest thing that could happen at Hogwarts. Just putting that out there.

“What did Hale _do_ to you? You forgot your _broom_?” Stiles opened and closed his mouth several times, grasping for an excuse that wouldn’t paint him as a lovesick puppy, or a starstruck fanboy. In the end his brain betrayed him and the truth slid shamefully out into the open.

“He said, ‘Come on,’ and I followed.” Scott was waiting for the rest, but that was it. Apparently that was all it took for Stiles to abandon his precious ‘freedom’, the thing he’d once hexed Tommy O’Flaugherty for touching without permission a year ago. Yeah, he was a little possessive when it came to his Thundercracker, but he’d saved up forever for it, and then his dad had helped him with the rest as a birthday present, and it was just really important to him. The fact that he had willingly left it behind in a place he couldn’t summon it from was justifiably earth-shattering in the world of Stiles. He felt his cheeks start to burn as Scott continued to gape at him, until he rubbed a hand over his face and continued down the stairs. 

“I’ll get it after class, I think Hale has office hours then,” of course Stiles knew _exactly_ when Hale’s office hours were, and they actually didn’t start until a half hour after they’d be out of potions, but Stiles really didn’t need to admit that right now. A little nonchalance would be good for him, fake though it was. 

“What happened, Stilinski, did you lose a bet?” Jackson asked as they walked into the room, taking in Stiles’ odd appearance. In all the commotion he’d somehow forgotten about the robe and the hair, results from Hale’s talented wand-waving.

“Duel, actually. Haven’t had a chance to pretty myself up yet. I see you found the time, though.” Jackson sneered a little and made his way to his table, where Lydia was already perched, eyebrow raised toward Stiles. He shrugged and sat down, and was totally flummoxed when she delicately hopped off of her stool and made her way over to him.

“I feel it’s my civic duty to stop this from happening,” she flipped some hair away from his eyes with her wand. “These, though, I think need to go.” She moved the tip down to the threadbare edges of his too small robes.

“It was just a _reducto_ spell, I can fix them.” Lydia shook her head, lipglossed mouth pursed.

“No, no you really can’t. New robes, next time we’re in Hogsmeade, definitely before 7th year photos.” Ah, it made sense now, Lydia couldn’t have anyone messing up her yearbook. “But for right now, _diffindo_ ,” her wand began to hum, the tip glowing ever so slightly, causing Stiles eyes to widen exponentially. 

“Wait, Lydia, I promise I’ll take care of it,” he stuttered out, but to no avail, the red-head was already on him.

“Oh calm down, don’t you trust me?” At that Stiles stilled, because, despite the fact that she could be cold and calculating and bitchy, yes, he did trust Lydia Martin, more than he trusted a lot of people, and not just on the topic of fashion. But _especially_ when it came to fashion, because, let’s not play games here, bitch was fierce and knew how to orchestrate a wardrobe. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, submitting himself to her will and trying not to wince at the feeling of hair clippings drifting past his cheeks. 

“Mr. Stilinski, this is not a beauty salon, please make an actual appointment outside of class time to fix yourself up,” an unimpressed voice drawled out from the front of the room.

“Just another minute,” Lydia clipped back, never taking her focus from Stiles. The slight humming continued unabated, until he felt her delicate fingers threading through his hair, pushing and twisting until she nodded in satisfaction, “That works.” Stiles quirked an eyebrow at Scott, who considered for a second before agreeing with a quick bob of his head. 

“Definitely an improvement.”

“As though there was anything to improve on,” his hand raised unthinkingly to his head and was quickly swatted away.

“Don’t touch it.” Stiles gaped at her. Touching his head was kind of what he did, like, all the time. It was an automatic reaction, he couldn’t be held responsible if his fingers unconsciously raked through his hair. He narrowed his eyes and sat on his hands, motioning as well as he could with his shoulders that this was the best he could do. Lydia nodded sagely at him, then turned and nodded sagely at Harris, who had somehow, and for some reason, acquiesced to her demands. Apparently class starts when Lydia Martin says it does.

It was by far the most uncomfortable Potions session Stiles had ever experienced, with Scott at the helm, Harris glaring, Lydia threatening, and a few people who had never given him the time of day before casting appraising looks on him. It was _hair_. How could it possibly hold this much sway over people and their opinions of him? 

The two hours crawled by as Stiles went without the use of his hands, directing Scott as well as he could so he could feel somewhat helpful. Their potion ended up a bit on the sludgy side, receiving a pleased look of disdain from Harris, if there were such a thing. It was like he was disgusted with their performance, but oh so happy he could righteously hate on it. It made Stiles wonder why the hell the man became a teacher in the first place.

Lydia and Jackson of course made a perfect sample of Veritserum, which got Jackson a hearty clap on the shoulder and few words of praise from Harris. Stiles involuntarily shuddered at the display, actually preferring the looks of hate to any kind of touching or awkward commendations. Maybe it was just because he was so used to the abhorrence, but the way Harris almost stroked Jackson’s arm skeeved him out.

Finally, _finally_ , class was over, and Stiles and Scott fled up the stairs as quickly as they could. 

“So, you still wanna fly?” Scott asked, shouldering his bag. Stiles nodded.

“Yeah, how about we meet out at the pitch in an hour? That’ll still give us plenty of time before dinner, and I can get my broom and you can probably go bother Allison.” Scott smiled a little dopily at the name, and Stiles found it both sweet and sickening that he still got all fluttery thinking about his girlfriend after two years of dating. But it had been a hard-won two years, due to the Argent’s pure-blood sentiments and Scott being muggle-born. More than a few times Stiles had expected it to all go to hell, but the two lovebirds held on, and her family relented. Well, her dad did, at least, going against generations of family culture and custom by condoning his daughter’s relationship. Maybe it was because he assumed it was nothing more than a teenage crush and would be over before long, or maybe he really had changed his stand on the (stupid and assbackwards) issue, Stiles would never actually know, but Scott and Allison were blissfully happy together, and really that was all that mattered.

“Sounds good. See you then!” Scott called out, shooting a hand behind him as he trotted off toward the towers. Stiles waved back, hand automatically moving to his head.

“GAH!” He pulled the singed fingertips away from his still untouched tresses, staring in horror at their pinked ends. He’d barely grazed a couple of strands, but it had felt as though he’d pressed them against hot coals. Lydia, that deviously clever witch, how _dare_ she curse his hair just to break him of a harmless habit! He flexed his fingers and shoved them into the pockets of his still too small robes, which, yeah, he should fix that soon. Maybe while he was waiting for Hale to finish his last class and come to the office. Stiles padded toward the eastern wing, shooting lopsided smiles at girls and guys giving him a once over. He was sure his robes were a big part of this, and they were probably looking for the third year he’d undoubtedly hijacked them from. 

Pausing before the large double doors leading to the professors' offices, Stiles wondered if it would be painted as extremely pathetic and needy to be found waiting outside Hale’s office, even if it was just to retrieve some left items. He was about to turn around and wait in the courtyard when the opposite scenario struck him, going to the room exactly when Hale’s office hours started, which might make him seem _more_ stalkery than if he were just waiting, like he had no idea… guh, he was so overthinking this. Frustrated with himself, he pulled open the heavy door and strode down the hallway, passing several open and shut doors before reaching the one he needed. On impulse he gave the handle a tug, and wasn’t surprised in the least when it didn’t budge. He sighed and pulled off his ill-fitting robes, sliding down the wall opposite the office until he was seated on the floor. He practiced _engorgio_ on the fraying clothes, trying to get them back to their original size, but it was more difficult than he had surmised. Depending on his voice and the force of his wand flicking the growing and shrinking would vary dramatically. He groaned, and fiercely resisted the urge to run a hand through his hair. Dirty-dueling Derek Hale would pay for this. Probably. Maybe.

 

__________________________________

 

“Professor Hale!” Derek stopped at the sound of his name, turning to see Adrian Harris walking briskly down the crowded hallway, long cloak billowing behind him. He hadn’t really hung around the other professors since the evening of the Sorting Ceremony, unsure of their reactions to his true nature, and not really wanting to find out. But Harris seemed amicable enough, smiling as he came up to him.

“I wanted to thank you for getting me the pleine lune, it really saved my week. I know I should have planned ahead better, but, I had gotten uncharacteristically distracted.” Derek didn’t miss the way his eyes raked up and down his body, causing him to shift uncomfortably beneath his gaze. 

“No trouble,” Derek grunted out, shoving his hands into the pockets of his long coat. 

“So how’s your first week been so far? Heard you had some excitement on Monday.” 

“Surprisingly good. Even Monday turned out to be okay,” he shrugged, feet itching to keep moving down the hall. Small talk was definitely not his forte, and while he could fake it well enough if he liked, he preferred to never have to deal with it at all. But Harris seemed determined to keep him there, talking about the inane things he assumed the other teachers all talked about: class sizes, difficult students, gifted students, lesson plans, etc. If this was a sampling of what the teacher’s lounge would be like, Derek couldn’t imagine he’d be spending much time there.

“Well,” Derek edged after a few minutes, “it’s been nice catching up, but I have to get in for my office hours,” he half turned his body, desperate to exit out of the conversation without ruffling any feathers. Harris waved a hand dismissively.

“Those are more or less a formality, don’t worry about it.”

“Maybe, but I’ve had a student use it already, so I should probably stick to it.” Harris was taken aback by this revelation, and Derek wondered when it was exactly that the other man gave up any sort of actual care for his job.

“Interesting. Which student, if I may ask?” Derek didn’t really see how that made any difference, and was about to tell him as much, but remembered that, while he was not actively seeking out friends, he needed to watch his image, and it wouldn’t hurt to have colleagues and professionals on his side.

“Mr. Stilinski, from my level 6 class. Bright kid, eager to learn,” he almost wanted to continue the adulations as he saw Harris’ face fall with the name.

“I certainly don’t want to speak ill on students or influence your judgment, but, as a precaution, you might want to watch out for Mr. Stilinski. He’s been something of a terror in the past, causing a number of problems in and out of class.” 

“Huh, is that so?” Derek decided to use this moment to begin walking toward his office, unsurprised when Harris fell into step next to him. The veteran teacher nodded seriously, and Derek fought the urge to smile. He made like he was mulling over the information, before huffing out a sigh, “I guess I’ll have to keep a close eye on him, make sure he doesn’t try to pull anything in class. Though he does seem to take DADA pretty seriously,” he couldn’t help but slip a little defense of Stiles into the conversation. Harris pursed his lips as though he’d just bitten into something sour, eyes narrowing ahead of him. Derek wondered what Stiles had done to get under this man’s skin so badly. He’d been a prankster, sure, but as far as Derek knew none of the shenanigans he and McCall pulled had been malicious or _overly_ dangerous to anyone but possibly themselves. 

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be able to handle him, you being, what you are,” annnnd there it was. He’d wondered how long it would take for them to breach the werewolf discussion when Derek had ignored the rib about Monday’s in-class shift. He nodded, even though he’d never intended to use the threat of his wolf as a tool of classroom management.

“Yeah, though I think I’ll keep the claws and fangs in check for the rest of the semester. Don’t want them to lose their shock value.” To his surprise Harris smiled at this, glancing down at his pocketed hands. 

“I wouldn’t mind getting to see them up close myself, sometime,” he drawled, gaze sliding from his hands up to his face. Derek’s eyes darted around, hoping for something to focus on. Oh thank god, they were almost to the offices. He coughed a little in a horrible effort to hide his discomfort.

“Well, there’s always Halloween, maybe they can make an appearance then,” he said as he pulled open the double doors and quickly strode through, with Harris hot on his heels. 

“I was more thinking of-” Harris stopped midsentence as the pair of professors came across a young man swamped in about 20 yards of black fabric. Derek’s eyebrows raised up to the top of his brow as he took in the sight. Stiles grinned sheepishly beneath what he could only assume used to be his robes.

“So, _engorgio_ is harder to master than I’d thought…” he trailed off, picking at the oversized seams. Derek smothered a grin with his hand, while Harris shot a look over at him, then turned a glower onto Stiles.

“Honestly, Stilinski, I don’t know how you made it to your seventh year,” the potions master shook his head and clapped a hand to Derek’s shoulder, “I’ll talk to you later, don’t work too hard,” he gave a quick squeeze and then strode off the way they’d come, leaving the other two alone in the hallway. Derek shrugged unconsciously, then turned his focus onto Stiles. 

“How-”

“Dude, I don’t want to hear it, this is totally your fault,” Derek did grin at this, and shot his eyes to Stiles’ perfectly styled hair.

“You seemed to have been able to solve your other problem just fine,” he tilted his head down to where Stiles was sitting, “looks good.” The boy’s cheeks started to tinge pink at the compliment.

“Yeah, well, that’s only because Lydia cursed it so that it burns my fingers if I even get close to touching it,” Derek barked out a laugh, causing Stiles’ eyes to go wide. 

“Clever,” he mused, recalling the many times he’d caught Stiles running his fingers through his hair, over his throat, across his jaw; he might have a slight fixation on those damn fingers. “Does it just work against you, or is it anybody that touches your hair?”

“Huh, I’m not sure,” Stiles looked up at Derek from beneath his lashes, “no one’s gone after my hair today, which, actually, lately, is kind of surprising.” 

“Do you,” he paused, hand already reaching out, fingers itching to feel the soft-looking tresses, “want me to check? I heal quickly, if, you know.” He could hear Stiles’ heartbeat pick up, mouth hanging open as he blinked up at him before nodding, slowly at first, and then a little spastically. 

“Sure,” his voice broke a little, causing him to clear his throat, “I mean, yeah, you know, for, like experimentation, the more knowledge you have, and what not. Can’t have uncharted hair-curses running around, that’d be-” he cut himself off, eyes fluttering shut as Derek dragged his fingers through the impossibly soft hair, blunt fingernails just barely tracing over his scalp. It took all of Derek’s self-control to keep himself from using both hands, noting the precarious position they were in, with Stiles on the floor, lips parted, and Derek towering over him, left hand cradling the back of his head. He quickly withdrew his hand and squatted down so they were eyelevel.

“Looks like it’s just you, might want to ask your friend when it will wear off.”

“Maybe you should check again,” Stiles breathed out, then snapped his eyes open, as though only now realizing what he’d said, “I mean, thanks for checking. Good stuff to know. Hair curses.” Derek nodded and raised an eyebrow, motioning toward his door, “Did you need something from me?” Stiles blinked uncomprehendingly at him a few times before shaking his head and sputtering out, “Yes, yes, I, last night, before our, I mean, I left-”

“Your broom,” Derek finished for him, remembering Stiles carrying it in, almost knocking over his bookshelf with his extended flailing.

“Yeah, and my gear. Kinda need that stuff.”

“Of course,” Derek stood up and held out a hand, which Stiles grabbed, allowing himself to be hauled to his feet, pounds of black fabric still hanging off his form. “First, let’s fix this, _reducio_ ,” Derek flicked his wand, and the robe began to fold in on itself, fitting around Stiles’ frame even better than it had originally. “Sorry about that, I should have fixed it before you left the class. Won’t happen again.”

“Ahh, no worries, I think I may have started a new fashion trend though, so, you know, be on the look out,” the boy grinned as Derek unlocked the door and ushered him in. He hadn’t been back to the office since he’d left it last night, and it was still saturated with Stiles’ scent. It was all Derek could do to keep from closing his eyes and taking the deepest breath imaginable; even Stiles would have been able to pick up on that not-so-subtle message.

“Oh dude, sorry, my pads must reek; I promise no more post-practice meetings, sorry,” Stiles stumbled as he hastily grabbed up his discarded gear. “I can bring in some deodorizers or something, this must be killing you.”

“Actually, I find artificial smells much more offensive than a little sweat.” Derek assured, but Stiles continued to look at him dubiously.

“This was way more than ‘a little sweat,’ though.”

“It’s fine, really.”

“But-”

“ _Stiles_ ,” the name was like a twist to the faucet, turning off the words that threatened to spill from they boy’s mouth, “if you bring me anything ‘deodorizing,’ I will throw you out of here. By the scruff.” He couldn’t resist adding in that final jab. Stiles blinked and nodded, pressing his lips together.

“Got it. Sweat good, candles bad. You werewolves are so weird.” Derek huffed.

“Really? It’s you _humans_ who can’t seem to stand the smell of your _own bodies_. You don’t find that weird?” Stiles’ mouth flew open for a retort, but before anything came out his brows furrowed, face taking on a look of contemplation.

“Huh… now that you mention it… Damn it, Professor Hale, stop giving me things to think about!” Derek grinned and shrugged his shoulders, “It’s my job.”

“Well then, stop being so good at it!” Stiles retorted, a barely suppressed grin on his face as he hoisted his arm guards onto his shoulder and grabbed his broom. Derek let out a low chuckle and swept his eyes to the floor, looking up in time to see Stiles cast a fond look back before waving and heading out the door. “See you Monday,” he called out behind him.

“Monday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spells:  
>  **Impedimenta (HP)** \- capable of tripping, freezing, binding, knocking back and generally impeding the target.  
>  **Langlock (HP)** \- Glues the victim's tongue to the roof of his/her mouth.  
>  **Blaberous (made up)** – Causes the victim to talk incessantly, making further spellcasting nearly impossible. Intensity depends on the caster; can wear off or be cast off.  
>  **Descendo (HP)** \- Makes things sink, or go down.  
>  **Jellilegs Jinx (HP)** \- A jinx that renders its victim's legs temporarily useless, leaving him/her to wobble around helplessly until the effect wears off or the counter-jinx is performed.  
>  **Expelliarmus (HP)** \- Used to disarm another wizard, typically by causing the victim's wand to fly out of reach.  
>  **Rictusempra (HP)** \- The subject experiences the sensation of being tickled.  
>  **Diffindo (HP)** – cuts/rips objects  
>  **Engorgio (HP)** – makes things grow/enlarge/ _swell_  
>  **Reducio (HP)** \- makes things smaller
> 
> Is it just me, or can these spells get massively kinky?


	6. Subtlety and Patience are a Great Way to Look Cool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sharp gasp came from the crowd, followed by a lot of excited whispering. Stiles swiveled his head up from the huddle to see what all the commotion was about, though he was fairly certain he already knew. Derek Hale was strutting across the grass toward the gathering students, broom in hand, black coat billowing behind him in the best way. Stiles wanted to slow-mo this moment and replay it over and over again. Hale moved like a predator, confident and aware with an air of unbridled power. It was enough to get Stiles half-hard, which he immediately cursed, as the broom was an erection’s natural enemy. He was about to tear his eyes away and think the most unsexy thoughts known to man (Prof. Finstock in a bikini was his go-to), when Hale’s piercing gaze landed on his face, locking their eyes and assuring that Stiles was going to have a very uncomfortable first few minutes of flight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and kudos! Feedback is always appreciated, and it warms me up inside to know people are enjoying what I'm laying down! Hope you all continue to accept my skewed Hogwarts/Teen Wolf universe!

“So I was thinking,” Stiles started as he and Scott sat at their usual lunch table, already covered in an array of decadent food. Seriously, Stiles was contemplating coming back to teach just so he could continue partaking of this daily splendor. He began scooping up some lamb stew, mouth watering at just the smell of it.

“Yeah?” Scott was looking at him expectantly, and it took Stiles a minute to remember he had just been talking. 

“Huh? Oh, right, yeah, so, I was thinking, for our next practice, we should have someone come and gauge the players. It’s hard for us to both be the opposition and evaluator, so another set of eyes in the stands could really be handy.” Scott nodded, grabbing a still warm roll, then going back for two more.

“That’s not a bad idea. But who’re we gonna ask? We can’t trust any players from the other teams to give us honest feedback, and we need someone who knows the game well enough to see talent, not just a random shot or a lucky hit.” Stiles simply raised his eyebrows lasciviously, making Scott roll his eyes by rolling his entire head and groan into his plate. “Fine, ask him, but make sure he’s not like, working for Slytherin’s team or something.” 

“Free agent or bust,” Stiles promised before diving into his meal. It’s “soup or stew” Sunday, which always made Stiles feel like curling up by a fire, regardless of what month it was. He thought that was the house elves’ plan, make the students so sleepy with soup they can’t be bothered to stay up all night and are well rested for the ensuing school week. Clever turnips. 

Sundays had long been Stiles’ favorite day, despite the fact that Monday was an ever-present threat looming just in the distance. Maybe that’s why he liked it so much; the last hurrah before he was required to buckle down and be “productive”. For ages he and Scott had used the free time to explore the castle, fly the grounds, whatever they wanted and could feasibly get away with. Then Allison and Danny had happened, and Sunday became “snuggle and sex” day. Now Scott was still in the throes of the previous moniker, but Stiles found himself on his own after lunch, tending to wander and work on spells of his own creation. At first they were just kind of goofy; spells to make his fingernails grow (useful for the dry, itchy season), fix his handwriting, and add spice to those less than perfectly seasoned dishes, but lately he’s been attempting invocations that were more serious, helpful even. Things like revealing a trap within a space, or guarding against veritserum (for those times when you really _really_ had to lie. For the greater good).

The two friends bid each other farewell, one heading back to the tower with a spring in his step, the other meandering slowly toward the library. It was a pretty good place to work, well stocked and quiet. He’d found a particularly good spot on the 3rd floor in the back, secluded and perfect for spell-practice. For the past three years he’d been using it as his personal study room.

So imagine his surprise when he turned the corner to find someone already sitting there. Stiles paused and took a step backward, mentally recounting his path, making sure he’d made all the correct turns and this was indeed his super-secret-but-not-really place of individual learning. Before he could turn-tail and flee the usurper perked up at the sounds of his footsteps and stuck him with a look, making a disappearing act impossible without being extremely awkward. He shot the guy a half smile and headed over to the table. 

“Hey,” he offered, slipping the messenger bag off his shoulder and onto the glossy wood. 

“Hey, sorry if I took your table,” the other boy said, gathering his books so they weren’t spread all over. Stiles shrugged his shoulders and sat down.

“No big, I’ve only sat here, completely alone, for three years. But it’s fine.” The look of panic crossing the other’s face made Stiles realize he had to review his friend-making tactic. “Seriously, it _is_ fine, so long as you don’t mind some wand waving and mini-explosions. And I’m actually not kidding on that part.” 

“What’re you studying for?”

“Uh, nothing, actually. I’ve been working on spell creation.”

“On your _own_?”

“Yeah, I mean, they’re mostly dumb, but,” he shrugged, “it’s fun.”

“Huh…” he received an evaluative look, which a couple years ago might have made him squirm, but now he accepted the gaze and returned it in full, taking in the mop of golden brown curls and absolutely ridiculous jawline. Seriously. The guy was familiar, like he’d seen him before, probably several times, but couldn’t quite place him.

“So, what’re _you_ studying for this early in the term?” The other boy grinned a little sheepishly.

“Well, definitely nothing as impressive as all that,” Stiles rolled his eyes and waved his fingers toward himself, indicating he still wanted an answer to the question. There was a small sigh, followed with, “Defense Against the Dark Arts.” Stiles’ eyes widened.  
“No shit? What level?”

“Four.” Stiles’ grin broadened across his face, “Awesome, I’m at six right now, I can totally help you out. I’m Stiles,” he leaned over and reached his hand across the table, where the other boy took it in a calloused grip.

“I know; I’m Isaac.” Stiles nodded, pressing his lips together and closing his eyes. Of _course_. Isaac Lahey. He still remembered the stories in _The Daily Prophet_ , his dad attacking him and anyone that tried to get close enough to get Isaac away to safety. It had taken three Aurors to finally take Lahey down and get Isaac to a safe house. That was two years ago; the boy had obviously grown, filled out, well, everywhere. He opened his eyes and gave their clasped hands a quick but firm shake.

“Yeah, I’m realizing I knew that, too. Wait, how do you know _me_?” He asked belatedly, withdrawing his hand and sitting back fully into the chair. Isaac just gave him a look.

“Seriously?” When he realized Stiles wasn’t kidding or fishing for compliments he continued, “Quidditch. I think pretty much everyone in the school knows who you are. Plus, you know, all those pranks you and Scott pulled when we were younger. You were like, the bad boys, but, not, you know?” He quirked an eyebrow, and Stiles had to stifle a laugh.

“I really don’t, but, uh, thanks. So, what’re you working on now?” 

“By the end of the year we’re all expected to have a corporeal Patronus. Right now I can barely get a wisp to come out, so, I thought I’d look up some case studies, see what I’m doing wrong.”

“Dude, you just started. Patroni take time, and practice, lots of practice.” Stiles remembered hours working on conjuring his own Patronus in his third year, watching it go from a wispy stream of light to an amorphous, glowing blob, and how excited he’d been when he first saw the shape of paws emerging. 

“Can I see yours?” Stiles had to bite his tongue to keep from responding to the unintentional sexual innuendo. He pulled his wand out and flicked it easily.

“ _Expecto Patronum_ ,” he said with force but not volume, having found out it was the strength of his voice, not the loudness, that affected spell casting. White wisps and light poured from the tip, wrapping around themselves until there was an iridescent fox prancing across the table, then hopping over Stiles’ shoulders and settling in front of Isaac. His blue eyes were practically shining as his face broke out into a huge smile, which Stiles decided was a good look on him. The fox cocked its head, flicked its tail once, then bounded back to Stiles, where it wrapped around his arms, smoothing into a stream of light and smoke before dispersing entirely. 

“Did you always know it was going to be a fox?” Isaac asked as Stiles slid the wand back into his pocket.

“No, and yes, I guess. Like, no one _knows_ what it’s going to be, but, when you see it, it’s like, duh, there’s no way it could have been anything else. You’ll see soon enough.” He gave a quick wink, pleased to see Isaac laugh a little, but not blush. The last thing he wanted was to come on to the guy, good looking though he may be. 

“Got it. So, what do you think about Professor Hale?” The question was definitely innocent enough, two students talking about a common teacher, but Stiles couldn’t help but feel guarded, like someone knew he was harboring an illicit crush and was just dying to drag it out and torture him with it.

“He’s good. I think he was a good replacement for Professor Finnegan,” he hoped his voice didn’t allude to anything deeper, but Isaac didn’t seem wholly satisfied.

“What about, you know, him being a werewolf? Are you okay with that?” There was a slight air of hostility in the question, like Isaac was interrogating, but on whose behalf Stiles wasn’t entirely sure. Not that it mattered, because there was no way Stiles would go back on his morals just to bond a bit with someone, no matter how amazing their jaw was.

“Oh, yeah, I was actually in the class where he wolfed out; there was never any danger to any of us, even the kid that taunted him. Who totally got less than what he deserved, by the way,” Stiles added hurriedly, though Isaac’s face was softening.

“Yeah, I’m kind of jealous I didn’t get to see it,” there was a hint of wistfulness in his voice, which made Stiles wonder if he wasn’t the only one at the table crushing a bit on their teacher. His stomach churned a little at the thought, which was _ridiculous_ ; he did not corner the market on unrequited crushes towards unattainable people.

“It was pretty badass,” he conceded, then, before he could stop himself, “he’s helping me with my 7th year thesis.” He felt like smacking his head against the table, there was no way that didn’t scream _possessive_. But Isaac just smiled, and looked almost, relieved?

“He helps me a lot in class, too. I think he’s aware of, you know, what happened, and it feels like he gives me a little extra attention sometimes,” he fiddled with his quill, and Stiles felt the bottom of his stomach drop. He knew, of course he _knew_ , that he was really just another student to Hale, one that pestered him into spending extra time with him. He should count himself lucky that Hale put up with him at all, not expect the professor to see him as anything special. Hell, he should be happy that someone was looking out for Isaac, not begrudging him the attentions of a teacher. Guh, he was pathetic.

“That’s cool. And hey, if you ever need, you know, any extra help, I’m around here most Sunday afternoons,” he offered, which got a smile and a nod from his tablemate. 

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” it was nice that there was no coyness, no, _oh, but I don’t want to take up your time_ , just genuine appreciation. Maybe Isaac could teach Stiles how to do that.

“No problem, but before you think this is a great deal, which of my amazing, self-made spells do you want to see first?”

___________________________

By the end of the afternoon, Stiles felt fairly secure in the fact that he’d made a new friend, and would likely see Isaac next week. He had found out the other boy was a Hufflepuff, a sixth year due to having taken a year off after the whole thing with his dad, and was trying out for his house’s Quidditch team for the first time, going for either seeker or chaser. Stiles genuinely wished him the best of luck on that front.

After an amazing dinner (as per usual), he made his way back up to his dorm, assuming Scott and Allison had finished up their Sunday events, or at least taken it to a room where Stiles wouldn’t be falling into a food coma. 

He shuffled into the blessedly empty chamber and began to strip off his clothes, happy to spend the rest of the evening lounging around in boxers and a t-shirt. Hell, if he didn’t have to physically leave his room for meals he’d probably never get dressed on the weekends; Scott could deal. 

He had just pulled his book on Occlumency out from under his bed when a stately raven (from the night’s plutonian shores, no doubt) came swooping into the room, courtesy of the ever-open window. The black bird perched on the edge of his desk, cawing impatiently at him while plucking at the object tied around his left leg. Belatedly Stiles realized the bird was being used as a messenger, and stumbled gracelessly out of the bed and over to his desk. The raven hopped onto his arm, talons barely pricking the skin as he jutted out the burdened appendage. Stiles undid the message as quickly as he could, then took a moment to fumble around for some feed, ending up with a handful of stale muffin crumbs, which the bird pecked from his hands, pausing every so often to shoot a glare at Stiles.

“I promise next time it’ll be something better,” he soothed, chancing a stroke down the bird’s glossy feathers. The raven must not have been too put out by the unimpressive treat, as he allowed the petting, and even seemed to preen a bit under the attention. Stiles grinned before unfurling the note.

_Stiles,_

_Aleksander looks forward to meeting with you. Does Tuesday at 6 work? Send your reply with Duke._

_\- Prof. Hale_

Of _course_ the messenger raven would belong to Derek Hale. Stiles rolled his eyes a little and grabbed his quill, writing a quick response of _Yes, Tuesday at 6 is fine_ , and against his better judgment, added _let’s try not to miss dinner this time_ before signing off. He gave the ink a moment to dry before curling it up tightly and securing it to the bird’s leg. Duke fixed him with a look, cawed once, then took to the sky. Stiles couldn’t help but lean out the window a bit, folded arms resting on the stone frame as the evening breeze rifled through his hair, eyes watching the dark wings beat against the sky, pink with the waning sun. He expected the raven to fly to the owlery, where messages and letters were collected every morning, but the bird banked and headed towards the tower Stiles knew was home to the professors that didn’t have House duties. Taking a deep breath, he fumbled blindly for his wand off of his desk, unwilling to lose track of the bird. His fingers grasped the smooth cherrywood and, with a calm focus he didn’t really feel, breathed out, “ _Eagle Eye_ ,” one of the more practical spells he’d been working on. At first nothing happened, but then, little by little, the opposite end of the castle got sharper. He was about to try again when suddenly it was as though someone had grabbed his head and flew across the courtyard at top speed until he was sure he’d slam against the solid stonewalls. Arms shaking, he gripped the edge of the window for stability as his overly enhanced eyesight made him extremely unsteady and a little nauseated. But despite his intense ocular zoom he’d managed to keep Duke within visual range, and followed him to an open window, where, _oh, sweet baby pandas_ , a shirtless Derek Hale waited. 

“Oh that’s just not fair,” Stiles whined as his fingers clung harder to the stone, lest he try to reach out and touch the ridiculous muscles rippling across the other man’s chest, arms, neck, _seriously_ , it should be against the law for professors to look that good. 

Hale accepted the bird onto his forearm, stroking the neck feathers several times before retrieving the message. Stiles watched as hazel eyes scanned over the hastily written words, and fistpumped as lips curled up into a smile at what he assumed was the second sentence. When Hale looked up, it was all Stiles could do to not drop to the floor, because despite the fact that he was, like, half a mile away, the professor seemed to be staring right into his eyes. He gulped noisily, knuckles gone white as he clutched ever harder into the stone. Werewolf sight couldn’t be _that_ good, could it? Stiles was half-tempted to wave, just to test the theory, but chickened out at the last minute, choosing instead to run his fingers through his hair and pull back from the window as casually as possible. Even if Hale could see him, there was nothing to indicate that Stiles would have been able to see him as well. He stepped back, foot landing awkwardly on his Occlumency book, sending his balance awry and his limbs flailing. 

“Dude! Careful!” Strong arms wrapped around his chest before he could collide with anything, and Stiles tilted his head to get WAY too much of a close-up of the underside of Scott’s jaw. He let out a very dignified yelp, which resulted in being unceremoniously dropped to the floor by his previous savior.

“What’s wrong with yo- OH MY GOD! WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?!” Scott shouted, and Stiles guessed that his spell had maybe possibly done something with his features. 

“Uh, well, Eagle Eye works, just need to reverse it now.” Stiles said, pinching his eyes shut for all their sakes. 

“Do you think _inverticus_ will work?” Scott asked as he helped Stiles up once more and led him to his bed. 

“God I hope so, otherwise tomorrow’s going to be very interesting.” Scott pointed his wand at his best friend and said the incantation. After a moment Stiles still sat with his eyes squeezed shut, afraid of the possible reality that the reversal hadn’t worked and he’d be stuck like this. 

“Okay, open your eyes, dude.” Scott urged.

“Are you sure?”

“Only way we’ll see if it worked.” Slowly, Stiles pried open an eyelid, and was relieved to see Scott standing a normal distance away from him, instead of getting an intense look at every pore in great detail. Thank goodness their Blemish Blitzer had worked, otherwise who knew what kind of monstrosities Stiles might have seen. 

“Thanks man,” Stiles fistbumped Scott before flopping backwards onto his bed, “so, what’d my face look like?”

“Your eyes were almost totally black, like, remember that show I had you watch, with the hunters? It pretty much looked like you were possessed by a demon. I was about to get the holy water.” Stiles brows flitted upwards at this revelation.

“Cool, and I guess creepy, but still cool.”

“What were you using Eagle Eye on, anyway?” Scott asked as he wandered shirtless up to the window. He’d been going without a shirt more often since their 5th year, when he had started working out seriously and developed some mad stomach and arm muscles. Stiles had some pretty decent definition going on as well, but not like Scott, and _nowhere_ near Hale’s physique. The thought of Hale shirtless, now with a visual to accompany it, made Stiles’ mouth water.

“You really don’t want to know,” and Scott, bless him, didn’t press for it. He’d learned long ago to trust Stiles’ warnings. 

___________________________

The next morning Stiles hung out after class in order to ask Hale if he’d supervise their quidditch meet that afternoon. While the professor looked a bit uncomfortable, he had agreed to be there at 5. Stiles _almost_ pointed out that he had office hours then, but remembered that he needed to stop being his own worst enemy and bit his tongue on the matter. 

The rest of the day went by in a blur; apparition was good, potions was insufferable, and seminar dragged on, even though it was his shortest class of the day. The second they were released he was out the door and on his way to the pitch, eager to get on his broom and feel the wind in his hair, and the thought that Derek _Fucking_ Hale would see him fly both put his stomach in knots and sent shivers throughout his body. 

Danny and Scott had already hauled all the equipment out to the grass below the stands by the time Stiles made it out there. He quickly slid on his gear and summoned his broom, deciding against theatrics today. With his nerves on edge he was more likely to get beamed in the face than inspire awe in the man sending his body all a-tingle. 

The hopefuls began to gather, the number down a bit from the first day, with just a few new faces. Stiles was happy to see all of his seekerlings had returned, and some even brought their own brooms. He beamed brightly and waved his Thundercracker at them before jogging over to where Scott and Liv were discussing the plans for the afternoon. 

A sharp gasp came from the crowd, followed by a lot of excited whispering. Stiles swiveled his head up from the huddle to see what all the commotion was about, though he was fairly certain he already knew. Derek Hale was strutting across the grass toward the gathering students, broom in hand, black coat billowing behind him in the _best_ way. Stiles wanted to slow-mo this moment and replay it over and over again. Hale moved like a predator, confident and aware with an air of unbridled power. It was enough to get Stiles half-hard, which he immediately cursed, as the broom was an erection’s natural enemy. He was about to tear his eyes away and think the most unsexy thoughts known to man (Prof. Finstock in a bikini was his go-to), when Hale’s piercing gaze landed on his face, locking their eyes and assuring that Stiles was going to have a very uncomfortable first few minutes of flight.

“Somebody likes to make an entrance,” he heard Liv scoff from next to him, but there was no actual malice in her voice. He knew she also admired the former quidditch player, and had been bouncing-on-her-toes excited when he’d mentioned Hale had said he’d show up.

“I think one of the wannabeaters just fainted,” Scott mused as the professor made his way up to them, and Stiles finally tore his eyes away to confirm this. Sure enough, a glance towards the group of newbies revealed someone on the ground, being fanned by a couple of well-meaning Samaritans, even though the afternoons were getting quite cool. 

“Am I early?” Hale asked as he stepped up to the current team, glancing around at the brooms on the ground and the pack of students craning their necks to see him better. 

“Oh, no, we were just getting ready to start. You, uh, you brought your broom?” Stiles said, nodding toward Hale’s left hand.

“Of course, can’t let you guys have all the fun. And besides, if you want me to be a good judge, I need to get every vantage point.”

“Fair enou- HOLY SHIT IS THAT A SKYWARP?” Jaw to the floor, Stiles almost had to physically restrain himself from reaching for the handle. Hale’s lips quirked up as he nodded, and then handed, OH MY GOD, _handed it over to him_. Stiles arms shook as he accepted the broom, holding it out in reverence. Everything was sleek and streamlined, the wooden handle practically vibrating with pent-up speed. He felt the saliva gathering in his mouth as he just stared and stroked and… yeah.

“You can take it for a round if you want,” Hale said nonchalantly, as though he hadn’t just given Stiles the Holy Grail of brooms and offered him everlasting life with it. Unfortunately, all of these events had left him with an absolutely raging boner, and he physically could not take flight for fear of killing himself. 

“I- can’t, right now,” Stiles groaned out, handing the broom back. It pained him to lose the weight of it from his outstretched palms, but when Hale uttered, “Well, maybe another time,” he almost joined the newbie on the ground. 

“We should get started,” Scott said, clapping both Stiles and Danny on the back (Stiles had been so twitterpated himself he hadn’t noticed Danny’s unblinking admiration of the professor), and moving toward the attendees. 

After another heart-pumping speech from Scott, everyone broke into groups, and Stiles was happy to see that Danny’s number of keepies had actually grown a bit, from four to seven. The plan was much like it had been on Wednesday; practice the positions in small groups for about 20-30 minutes, then hold a few scrimmages. 

Stiles tried his best to not stare too lasciviously as Hale took to the sky, but knew he wasn’t alone. Danny literally had to wipe his mouth after a moment of gaping at the other man. 

“This might not have been a good idea,” Stiles whispered, just as Danny murmured, “This was your best idea ever. Think we can get him to take his shirt off somehow?” Stiles made dying dolphin noises before heading over to the eastern end of the pitch. They’d been able to secure enough brooms for everyone this time around (with the help of people bringing their personal brooms), so Stiles had all seven of his trainees going after the snitch at once, which proved to be hi-larious. They were all so eager, and Stiles had a feeling it had to a lot to do with impressing a certain professor. He couldn’t really blame them. 

Hale zipped around stealthily, making it seem almost like he was everywhere at once. When Stiles thought he’d gone off to observe the keepers he was already with the chasers, and _every time_ he thought it was safe to turn around he was _right there_ , watching with those ridiculously intense eyes. 

Before he knew it, Scott sent up a flare from his wand, calling all groups back down to begin the first scrimmage. The current team set up their opposition, choosing those they felt most likely to make it to the final round of tryouts. They decided to play to 100 points instead of until someone caught the snitch, which would also effectively end the game. 

The first two rounds are easily won by the current players, Liv scoring 100 points as Danny effectively kept the chaseritos from even getting close, making the final score 100 to 20, and Stiles catching the snitch within 15 minutes of the second game, which closed with a tally of 170 to 0. Stiles chanced a look at Hale, hoping to find the professor impressed, and deflated when he saw the look of consternation the other man was sporting. Hale’s eyes flitted to his, and he quickly jerked his head, summoning the seeker over to him. Stiles complied, casting a glance at Scott, sharing a quizzical look before reaching the make-shift talent scout.

“What’s up?”

“You want some of these guys to play with you, right?” He asked, and Stiles gave him a _well duh_ shake of his head and shoulders. Hale pursed his lips, “Then you need to _actually play with them_. McCall and Hargetty especially, since they’re part of a subset. Don’t sequester yourselves just because you’re hotshots.” Stiles was about to respond, angrily defend his fellow players, when he realized Hale wasn’t berating their skills, but how they were going about building a new team. It took a lot to not respond defensively anyway, and instead mutter out, “So what should we do?”

After about six minutes of rearranging there were two full teams, Scott and Liv on one, Danny and Stiles on the other, with their top choice of newbies filling in on both sides. The resulting game was a lot more challenging. Stiles avoided getting beamed by Scott’s expert deflection of the bludgers, while Danny kept Liv from over-scoring. It honestly took about ten minutes for Scott and Olivia to remember they had others with whom they could share the burden (which was likely Hale’s reasoning for putting them on the same side, besides the fact that without Danny to stop Liv the scoring would be painfully one-sided, as had been evident). There wasn’t trust yet, but it was a step in the right direction. Stiles was on orders to not go snitch-happy until at least a half hour into the game, giving the other players a chance to feel each other out, learn how to work together. Stiles took the downtime (when he wasn’t dodging bludgers) to watch the proceedings beneath him and cast surreptitious glances towards Hale, who looked more pleased now, corners of his lips curling up. As small a smile as it was, it made Stiles’ chest warm up to see the professor happy. He almost swallowed his tongue as Hale’s eyes met his, and he nodded, signaling to Stiles that it was time to get his seeker on. He grinned quickly and shot into the sky, making a quick loop around the pitch, eyes darting everywhere before he found Janey lurking in the corner, alternating between looking to the sky and looking back towards Hale. An inkling of jealousy began to unfurl in the pit of his stomach, and he knew he’d really need to get that shit in check, otherwise he was in for a gut-wrenching year, because Hale was, objectively, the hottest person in the school, if not the entirety of the Northern Hemisphere, and people were going to look at him. But Stiles, only child that he was, wanted the professor all to himself: his smiles, his knowledge, his patience, and the laughter he _knew_ was inside the man, buried deep down. He was so entrenched in his thoughts about Hale that he almost missed the snitch literally flying five meters in front of him. Like a rocketized animal he was off, desperate to catch the ball before Janey, if only to give Hale more reason to look at him than her. 

The chase lasted all of five minutes, even with Scott taking notice of the pursuit and aiming the deflected bludgers in his direction. Stiles easily wrapped his fingers around the winged sphere, adding 150 points to his team and ending the game. He glided down to the stands to find out what the final score was.

“230 to 90,” one of the chaseritos reported, face flushed with excitement and chill as the sun began its descent. He nodded, eyes bright with the information; he kind of loved when it all came down to who caught the snitch, plus it was just cool to know that, up until that point, it was anyone’s game. 

“One more round?” Scott asked a little breathlessly as he swung his club in complicated patterns. 

“I’m game, but,” Liv edged, sending a wicked grin toward Stiles, causing him to furrow his brows in return, “I think Professor Hale needs to play seeker for the other team.” A squeal of delight came from the stands, and Janey all but scrambled to find a seat, eyes bright with anticipation. Stiles cast a look over toward Hale, trying to nonchalantly invite him into the fray, but knowing his rapidly beating heart was likely giving him away. He hoped to the werewolf it would just seem like he was overly excited about playing with a professional quidditch player, and not specifically to do with going head to head with _him_. There was a tense moment before Hale nodded, then gestured for Scott, Liv, and the rest of the team to join him in a huddle. Stiles squashed down the jealousy and decided to follow suit, bringing in Danny, the two wannabeaters, and the three chaseritos to discuss possible strategy, or he _would have_ discussed strategy if Danny hadn’t excitedly punched his arm and whisper-shouted, “You versus Derek Hale, oh my god!”

“Danny-”

“I mean, remember when you would just go on about him?”

“Danny!”

“And then when you confessed you-”

“DANNY!” Stiles was sure his cheeks were blotched red, eyes wide as the keeper finally shut his mouth, but not without giving him the biggest grin, dimples belying the evilness of his ways. The other team was looking at them now, and Stiles groaned, wondering how much Hale had heard, praying that he had been so intent on advising his lineup he’d shut the rest of them out. He huffed a breath out of his nose before fixing a stare on his makeshift team.

“Work together, make clean passes, don’t try to show off. Wannabeaters, aim for Hale, preferably his head. Danny, don’t let Liv rub this in our faces. Let’s go!” Before they broke out Danny grabbed Stiles shoulder, which somehow stilled the entire group.

“And Stiles,” he drawled a little, grin coming back full force, “don’t get distracted.” He winked before putting a hand in the middle of the group of bodies, “Gryffindor, on three.” Stiles rolled his eyes but followed the gesture, and couldn’t deny the pride he felt at the call of “GRYFFINDORE” and the resounding cheers it got from their handful of spectators. 

“Last game, we play until the snitch is caught,” Scott cleared, receiving sharp nods from both teams. Everyone fell into position, muscles tensed as they stared down their opposition. 

_This is the greatest day of my life_ , Stiles thought as he sat on his broom, faced off against Derek _Fucking_ Hale. He’d had this dream almost as much as the one where they’re in the locker room post-game, getting all sweaty and breathless for other reasons. Hale locked eyes with him, and then the fucker _smirked_ and quirked up an eyebrow, making Stiles’ breath catch as the quaffle was thrown into the air and the game began. He was just a second behind Hale, zipping to the left, dodging the other players as he sought higher peaks, eyes everywhere, trying desperately not to stray to his opponent, as that way lied madness. Hale had ditched his longcoat, which as far as Stiles was concerned was a dirty tactic to distract him and half the team, the way his black tee tended to cling to his sculpted shoulders, wind searing the fabric to his chest, and armguards doing nothing to divert attention from his practically obscene forearms. And then there was the part where he was smiling. No longer smirking, but _smiling_ , white teeth, full cheeks… Stiles was lucky he was staying on his broom at all.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins, making his practice of staying still and observing damn near impossible. He flitted around the pitch, heart beating like a hummingbird’s. His fingers gripped the broom handle, sliding easily down the wood as he streamlined his body, prepping himself for speed at the first sign of the snitch; he had to make up for the fact that Hale was on a fuckin _Skywarp_ , and go with every advantage that he had, namely his slimmer form and lithe body. He chanced a look at Hale, and was surprised to see the other man just staring at him, eyebrows drawn, as though he were a particularly vexing arithmancy problem. Stiles was about to sit up and motion a _What?_ to him, when his head snapped slightly to the right and he was off, hurtling towards Stiles at dizzying speeds. He had just enough time to turn his head and see the glint of gold before kicking himself into gear, doing a quick roll-flip to keep just ahead of Hale. The pair sped together, shoulder to shoulder, Stiles hunched close to the handle, Hale sitting taller, shoulders bunched as he tried to minimize his air resistance. The snitch was just ahead of them now, teasingly flitting back and forth. Stiles’ fingers gripped the wood harder, knuckles gone white as he watched the snitch unblinkingly, waiting for the orb to make a change in trajectory. Hale began inching ahead of him, superior broom giving him an advantage, but Stiles hunkered down further, long form practically plastered to the handle, willing himself to become more aerodynamic. In an instant the snitch was above and behind them, and both seekers reacted instantaneously; Stiles veered to the left, barrel-rolling to turn himself around, while Hale pulled up until he was upside down, flipping himself around fluidly. They were both back on course, Hale several feet ahead of Stiles due to his quicker turning tactic. Stiles took a chance and rose several feet, watching the orb bob up and down, thinking maybe he could get an edge if the snitch tended to go higher, as well as take advantage of the upwash produced by Hale’s wingtip vortices, reducing Stiles’ induced drag and giving him a speed boost. He was almost on top of the professor when the snitch shot to the right and Hale lurched forward, arm outstretched, fingers snagging the golden ball out of the air a second before Stiles reached him, hand gripping onto Hale’s now closed fist. A shrill sound blasted through the air, announcing the catch and thus the end of the game as the two seekers pulled themselves to a halt. 

“Damn, I was so close!” Stiles griped, though the smile on his face didn’t diminish with the loss. And Hale, he’d never seen Hale look more stunning: face flushed, dark hair tousled, eyes bright, smile genuine. Stiles wished he had a camera, even one of Scott’s cameras back home that only took still photos, just to immortalize this moment of bliss. He’d never seen Hale this happy after a win before. It took him a moment to realize he was still essentially holding the werewolf’s hand, fingertips brushing over tense knuckles, before pulling away as though the touch burned him. Hale glanced down at his own clenched fist and back up to Stiles’ face, pulling his smile back, and the younger man had just a few seconds to lament its loss before Hale slid up next to him, shoulders brushing as he leaned in, so close Stiles could feel his breath ghosting on the shell of his ear.

“You’re amazing,” he exhaled, and Stiles, well, Stiles lost all motor control and let go of the broom. It took him just a second to realize he was in a free fall, Hale’s form getting smaller as he plummeted down. He blinked and shouted, “ _Accio broom_!” before the panic of what was happening could really set in. The Thundercracker obediently sped into his waiting grasp, mere milliseconds before Hale was next to him, strong arm around his waist, halting his descent.

“Thanks,” Stiles muttered, smiling weakly at the professor as he situated his broom, “headrush, from the playing, I played a lot today. I’m okay.” He hoped the excuse would stick, _he’d_ believe it if someone else had said it to him. Hale just nodded, but he could see judgment in the man’s eyes, which, this close, were even better than Stiles had thought. It was like they exploded out from the pupil, a starburst of gold and copper melding into a soft blue-green.

“You sure you’re okay?” Hale asked, hand still firm against his ribs, keeping him steady on the broom as they drifted to the ground. Stiles nodded, though his breath was still coming out in short pants, and he almost wanted to whimper as the warm hands fell off of him, though the professor stayed close until their feet were on the ground. Immediately Scott was on Stiles, casting a look that was both suspicious and grateful at the werewolf before pawing at his best friend, making sure he was okay. 

“I’m fine, just got a little lightheaded from all the pressure changes,” Stiles assured as Olivia and Danny came rushing over. Before anyone could make a big deal out of it he turned to the gathering newbies, “Good game, everybody! We’ll have our last practice on Thursday, and official tryouts on Friday, so we’ll see you then!” He waved them off before turning back around, locking eyes with Hale, determined to be all business.

“So, what do you have for us?” 


	7. Derek has had a Long Day, and Good Manners are Secondary to His Cause

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dude, don’t worry, werewolves over vampires any day,” Stiles assured.
> 
> “Really? You don’t find them… alluring?” The last word was practically spit out.
> 
> “Well, sure, they are, but to each his own, you know? Thin and pale doesn’t really do it for me.” Derek caught the brief flicker of honey-brown eyes skating over him before they faced resolutely forward. He tried his best to squash his pleased smile, but knew a smirk, at the very least, had been wrangled out of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH for the comments and kudos, you all are beyond lovely!

Derek gave the small team a rundown of what he’d witnessed throughout the scrimmages; which players were ready, who held promise, and even supplied a short list of those there in vanity, for the recognition rather than an actual want of playing the game. He then stood by and allowed the four players to discuss the information amongst themselves, amusing himself with the team dynamics. While McCall – Scott – showed clear signs of being a natural leader, he often turned to Stiles for initial ideas. Danny was thoroughly easygoing, but had no problem sharing what was on his mind, and Olivia absorbed everything, seemingly going over it all in minute detail before voicing her opinion. In all they were a force to be reckoned with, and even though they would have three green players he could see them taking the cup again this year. 

The sun was just beginning to set as the team-huddle disbanded, satisfied with their new insights and gathering the discarded gear to take back to the storage closet. Stiles quirked an eyebrow as he watched Derek tuck a bundle of brooms under his right arm and carry a deactivated bludger back to the case. It was possible he had expected the professor to hightail it out of there once his job as talent-scout had been completed. The truth was Derek hadn’t had so much fun since his own time at Hogwarts, and wasn’t quite ready to go back to being a responsible adult. 

“Hey, thanks for this,” Stiles said as he sidled up next to him, a bag of padding in his right hand, broom slung easily over his shoulder. Derek nodded, hoisting his bundle of brooms more securely into his hold as he watched Danny and Olivia haul the ball-case between them. 

“It’s fine, takes me back to my newbie days,” he answered, but Stiles shook his head. 

“Not _this_ ,” he jerked his head toward the burdened arm, “but, you know, _this_ ,” now he swiveled his head in a large circle, “coming out today. Having an extra set of eyes helped a lot.”

“You probably shouldn’t be moving your head around so much. Don’t want to fall again,” Derek cautioned, evading the gratitude like a pro. Stiles grimaced and faced resolutely forward, and had Derek not been a werewolf he probably wouldn’t have seen the flush crawling up his cheeks, due to the waning light of the late afternoon sun. But he was, and he did, and it took all his self-control to not throw down his bundle and carry the boy off into the woods. 

“Can’t wait until these practices are over, and we have some newbies to do this for us,” Olivia grumbled from ahead of them, distracting Derek from dangerous thinking. Scott snorted his agreement from behind, hauling the rest of the brooms with him as they all made their way into the building, shouldering the heavy door open for the next person in turn.

Soon all the gear had been deposited, and Derek found himself mindlessly following the group to the Great Hall, where a decadent dinner awaited them. He shot a look up at his seat at the longtable reserved for the professors, a space he still didn’t quite feel comfortable taking. He was about to turn toward it when Stiles stopped and cast a concerned glance in his direction.

“So, is there anything I need to know before meeting Aleksander tomorrow? Any, uh, vampire formalities I should be aware of?” He asked, unintentionally drawing Derek along with them. The werewolf nodded, following the group and then taking the seat next to Stiles, ignoring the look of surprise Scott was shooting Danny from across the table. He’d seen a few professors eating amongst the students, knew it wasn’t unheard of, but still the murmurs around him caused him to shift in discomfort. Stiles shot a glare at his friends, and said, loud enough for them and several others pointedly staring and whispering to catch, “You know, he can _hear_ you.” Derek suppressed a grin at the looks of shock and the scent of embarrassment that overpowered the food for a moment as a handful of students shuffled closer to their plates, suddenly very focused on the meals in front of them.

Once their own dishes were filled, Derek started in on some of the specifics of vampire culture. While he was no expert, he was aware of several customs through his parents, then his sister, and finally via his own experiences. Werewolves and vampires often didn’t associate with each other, but there was no inherent bad blood or feud going on, as some believed. They were just, different.

“You have to remember your neck and your wrists,” he explained, “by showing them off, you’re basically inviting a vampire to feast, even through projected images.”

“So long sleeved turtleneck tomorrow, got it.”

“That’s not – No, you don’t have to keep them covered, but angling them out, baring them purposefully, it’s as good as begging them to take you. To a werewolf it means submission, exposing such vulnerable parts to us, and tends to play on our protective instincts, but vampires see an easy and offered meal. It’s difficult for them to resist.”

“Is- does just a bite turn you?”

“No, or else we’d be swarming with vamps. Their turning process is a lot more… complex. For wolves there just has to be intent. Which is why, historically, werewolves have much greater self-control,” Derek cut into a piece of steak, a little more done than he would have preferred, and lengthened his teeth just enough to tear into the meat effortlessly. 

“And that’s not at all biased, right?” Stiles asked, stabbing at his own food, eyes stuck on Derek’s mouth. The werewolf grinned, all predatory, causing Stiles’ eyes to go wide.

“Guess you’ll find out…” Stiles swallowed hard and wet his lips before turning his focus back on his dinner. Derek knew there were more than a few extra bodies leaning into their conversation, though it was clear no one was comfortable enough to out-and-out join in. He wasn’t sure if it was his werewolf or professor status that made the other students so hesitant around him. He couldn’t blame them, in any case, and was just glad that for some reason Stiles didn’t fall into that category. After a few moments of contemplative chewing Olivia drew Stiles into a discussion on a spell she’d been working on, Danny was called away for “Head Boy” obligations, and Allison Argent joined the table, but only after shooting a confused look between Derek and Scott, and getting a reassuring nod from the other boy. 

“He was helping us with practice,” Scott said by way of explanation as Allison took the seat next to him, still glancing warily at Derek. He had done his best to not treat her differently from any of his other students, to block out the scent that came too close to _hers_. He didn’t know what she had been told, and could only hope that her reservations toward him at this point had more to do with him being her hard-ass professor rather than the deaths that surrounded both their families. 

“I should be going,” he said, standing up from his far-from-empty plate. Allison bit her lip and cast her eyes down as Scott nodded amicably, either unaware of any tension, or just playing it cool. Stiles frowned a little, but nodded as well. Derek had just turned from the table when he felt a hand grip his forearm, and knew without looking it was Stiles, his long fingers practically burning a brand into his skin, even through the fabric.

“Where am I doing this vamp meet-n-greet?” He asked, heartbeat ratcheting up. Derek’s forehead creased, he hadn’t really thought of where he’d meet with Aleksander; his office didn’t have a fireplace, and the house common-rooms were always busy in the evenings, or at least they were when he was a student. Which really only left one spot.

“Professors’ lounge. Meet at my office at 5:45, I’ll take you there.” And with that the hand dropped and Derek strode out of the room, resolutely ignoring the looks and whispers following in his wake.

____________________________

It wasn’t but an hour and a half later that Derek’s stomach growled so loud he was surprised his neighbor didn’t knock on his wall and tell him to keep it down. He had known walking away from his plate was a bad idea, but thought he could last at least one night without a full meal. Apparently he’d gotten a little too comfortable, living the life of a kept-werewolf. A glance at the clock told him it was 9:27, the Great Hall would be cleared, kitchens closed, the perfect time to sneak in and grab something so he could survive the night.

“You’re getting soft,” he murmured to himself as he began slinking out of his room, before remembering that he was an adult and allowed to be out in the halls whenever he wanted. Apparently the afternoon had really thrown him for a loop, making him feel young and impetuous and better than he’d felt in years. He shook his head and stood up straight before walking purposefully down the hall, face set in a grimace he was sure would keep any possible conversation-starters at bay. 

Fortunately Monday evenings were dull, everyone falling back into the swing of the week, so Derek didn’t see a living thing on his way to the kitchens (he did, however, pass a snickering ghost). He half-wondered if he, as a faculty member, had clearance to visit the kitchens, but decided to just go with his tried and true method. He had felt like a kid all evening, why stop now?

The narrow hallways smelled even better than usual, a hint of the meals of the day mixed in with something else, something familiar and delicious. He picked up the pace, stomach gurgling as he padded down the corridors. He stopped sharply at the entrance, noticing the shelves had already been disturbed – pushed slightly to the side – just enough for a lithe body to slip through. Nose to the air, he suppressed a pleased growl as he carefully moved the unit another few feet, creating an easy opening for himself. 

“Yeah, I didn’t realize how heavy that was,” Stiles said easily from where he sat on the floor, plate already piled sky-high. Derek made his way over to him, noticing the food was more or less untouched, and sat with the assumption that Stiles had made the plate for him. The way the boy smiled and settled in against the cabinet even more when Derek dug in told him he was correct. 

“I’m kind of surprised,” Derek said between bites, “you seem to pay close attention to everything else.” Stiles ears went red.

“Yeah, well, you made it look deceptively easy,” he countered poorly, “I mean, how strong could werewolves really be?” Derek quirked an eyebrow and held the fork so it was pinched between his thumb and forefinger, squeezed and rolled three times before the ends fell from both sides. Stiles gaped at the mangled cutlery, “Okay, fine, you’re pretty strong.” Derek smiled, fangs out, before going back to his food, using his claws to pierce the vegetables, which somehow tasted even better now than they had at dinner. He ate in relative silence, and was surprised to see no trace of evening-snacking on the boy.

“Why are you here, Stiles?” 

“I noticed you’d left before eating most of your dinner, and figured you’d be hungry soon.”

“Okay, that explains why _I’m_ here, so let’s try this again. Why are you here, _Stiles_?” There was some uncomfortable shifting before Stiles sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair.

“I just, kind of wanted to talk to you, alone,” Derek waited, his face a mask of stoic patience while his heart beat so hard he was amazed Stiles couldn’t hear it, even without enhanced abilities. “I mean, today was great, like, _so_ great. Playing against you was pretty much the highlight of my life.” Now it was Derek’s turn to shift uncomfortably, suddenly very focused on his food. For all that he had been a Slytherin, he didn’t take compliments well. Never knew where to put them, how to respond. Laura would tease him about being a Hufflepuff in Slytherin clothing, but he, like most students, knew there was way more to the houses than the stereotypes on the surface.

“I had- it was a good game,” Derek said, glancing up from his plate to find Stiles’ eyes trained on him. He wanted to ask what this really was, why Stiles was so persistent with him, seemed to be one of the few students who wasn’t at all afraid of him. But instead he just met and held the gaze until Stiles nodded and snagged a roll from the plate. 

“So, is it weird that I’m panicky about fake-meeting a vampire?” Stiles asked after a few moments of silent chewing, and now Derek really understood why he’d sought him out this evening.

“I can call it off it you want.”

“No, no, that’s not, I mean I’m excited, and grateful, you totally didn’t have to ask him, and you did, and that’s awesome, I’m just-”

“Nervous?” Derek supplied with a crook of his eyebrow. Stiles pursed his lips and nodded, making him look young and vulnerable. It twisted something in Derek’s chest, in both a good and bad way; a need to protect tinged with the reminder that he’s _so young_. “Think of this as a trial run. Just, I don’t know, pretend you’re talking to me. You had no problem asking me all those questions that first night.” Stiles smiled a little ruefully at that.

“I still can’t believe you agreed to that, to all of this, to be honest. I kinda thought you were going to attack me at first.” Derek thinks back to that first day, how Stiles’ scent had practically punched him in the gut, how he had to wrestle his instincts to the ground before he pressed the unsuspecting student into the wall just to _smell_ and _feel_. Yeah, he’d wanted to attack him, but not the way Stiles was intending.

“And yet you stayed.”

“Sometimes my intrigue overwhelms my self-preservation.” Derek shook his head, a small, exasperated smile playing on his lips.

“I have a feeling that’s going to get you into trouble some day.”

“Pretty sure it already has.” Derek thought back to all the tales of Stilinski and McCall from his last couple years at the school, and could only imagine all the mischief the two must have gotten into as they got older and bolder. He wondered how many times they’ve snuck into the Forbidden Forest, if they ever made it into the Shrieking Shack, what they would do if they came across the bones of the basilisk. It occurred to him that he’s as interested in Stiles as Stiles appeared to be in werewolves and half-humans, only he didn’t have the excuse of a thesis to poke and prod and get his answers. He swallowed and looked up, catching Stiles’ eyes, pupils blown wide in the darkness of the room.

“Don’t worry about tomorrow,” his words came out in a half-choked whisper, causing Stiles to lean in just as he let out a low cough to clear his throat. “Go to your room, get some rest. It’ll be fine.” He assured, voice back to normal with a little command bleeding in, though there was nothing holding Stiles to it, as Derek wasn’t an alpha, and Stiles wasn’t his pack. But growing up Derek had always found the tone to be soothing in times of trepidation, so he hoped it would help calm Stiles’ lingering nerves and allow for some decent rest. The boy nodded and stood up a little uneasily, legs probably fallen asleep from their prolonged sitting. He bounced on his toes for a moment to get the blood flowing again before heading to the secret entryway. Derek watched as he paused at the shelves and turned to face him.

“You’ll be there with me, right?” He asked, causing Derek’s eyebrows to shoot up. He’d _wanted_ to be there, to make sure Aleksander didn’t push any boundaries, but assumed Stiles would want privacy for his interview. He nodded wordlessly, then, realizing Stiles probably couldn’t seem him through the darkness, said, “Whatever you need.” He caught Stiles’ smile and quick head-bob before the boy ducked through the opening and disappeared from sight. 

____________________________

 

The fireplace crackled, burning logs shifting conspicuously in the embers. Derek had used the fireside chat enough to know it was a sign the other party was preparing to come through. He settled down on the floor, feeling a bit childish as he sat with his legs “criss-cross-applesauce,” knee just barely brushing against Stiles’, but he didn’t shift away. 

“Remember, bearing your throat to a werewolf means submission, but to a vampire it’s an invitation.” Stiles nodded earnestly, and Derek could feel the mild alarm rising inside of him. He placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“Relax, I’ll be with you the whole time. Watch my cues and I’ll make sure you don’t accidently end up vampire-married.” A streak of panic crossed Stiles’ eyes. 

“Is that a thing?” Derek shrugged, causing Stiles to drop his jaw and stare at him in disbelief until the werewolf grinned.

“You’ll be fine, he’s just projecting through the fire, no way he could swoop in and carry you off into the night. Nothing to worry about.” Stiles nodded, but gave Derek the stink-eye until he turned back toward the fireplace; eyes glued to the ever-flickering flames.

There was a loud snap, followed by the fire burning brighter, turning a vibrant shade of blue before opening like a curtain. The cleared space shimmered for a moment before the tendrils of smoke and wisps of flame formed a face. Derek heard Stiles’ sharp intake of breath and hoped it was more for the theatrics than the man appearing through the fire. Because Aleksander, friend though he may be, was _not_ appropriate for any young person’s affections.

“Derek Hale, wonderful to see you again!” A charming voice, thick with Estonian accent, filtered out of the fireplace. “And this must be young Mr. Stilinski. It is a true delight to meet you.” Derek could feel the beginnings of a flush radiating from Stiles’ skin, and hoped his scowl didn’t come across as more severe than normal.

“Thank you for meeting with us,” he clipped out, but Aleksander continued to smile openly.

“Of course, of course, anything for the Hales, and certainly anything for a youth such as this.” Derek didn’t bother disguising his eyeroll as Stiles sat up straighter, preening under the attention. 

“I really appreciate it,” he said, flush fully activated at this point, and okay, _now_ Derek was getting a little agitated. Why was everyone so enamored with vampires, anyway? They were no more inherently sexy than werewolves. Plus, they’re dead. How is that appealing? And yet, Stiles’ eyes were bright with excitement as he explained his thesis project to Aleksander, who crooned his approval, and even through the flame and smoke it was obvious he was raking his eyes over the boy in an unseemly matter. It took all Derek had to keep from growling and shoving Stiles behind him.

“I’ve gotta say, I can’t quite place your accent. Where are you from?” Stiles asked, quill poised over his parchment.

“I spent my human years in Estonia, but have moved around much since my transformation. Currently I reside in Edinburgh, which I must say is absolutely beautiful, if you were ever inclined to visit.”

“I’ll, _hrm_ , I’ll keep that in mind.” He tossed a quick, confused look at Derek before forging on with the interview. “So, um, forgive me if I do anything weird, this is my first time meeting a vampire.” Derek couldn’t help but raise a palm over his face as the words fell out of Stiles’ mouth. It was as good as announcing your virginity to a meeting of sex-addicts. Not even the smoke could hide the spike of interest in Aleksander’s eyes, and Derek had never been so happy that Hogwarts had extremely strict policies on apparating. 

“There is something about you that seems very… fresh. I’ll be sure to not hold it against you. Unless you want me to.” At this Derek did bare his teeth, warning the vampire to back off a bit, which received him a smirk and a continuation. 

“But please don’t worry over anything. For the most part vampires are not so unlike humans. We need the blood of the living to survive, just as most humans consume the meat of a once living animal. We have feelings, wants, desires… all vampires were once human, after all.”

“Let’s not forget the part where you’re dead,” Derek cut in, causing Stiles to shoot him a shocked look, but Aleksander just smiled.

“Yes, there is that, of course. My heart hasn’t beaten for over 120 years.”

“Well you don’t look a day over 30,” Stiles joked, but Derek didn’t like the gleam in his eye. And he really hated the way Aleksander laughed. It wasn’t even funny. 

Derek continued to glower as the two went through more questions, which lead to more bantering, which then lead to more glowering. He hadn’t realized how bad it had gotten until Stiles glanced over at him and his face went from delighted to concerned in the span of a second. It took another few seconds for Derek to realize Stiles had read his face as a warning that _he_ was out of bounds, doing something wrong, which, besides his initial fauxpaux (which Derek was _pretty_ sure he’d covered in their crash course yesterday, but, maybe he’d glazed over it…), was not the case. After that Stiles toned down the teasing, and while Derek was secretly pleased, he also felt an inkling of guilt. He had been doing everything right, it was _Derek_ who couldn’t stand to see the two go back and forth anymore. 

A sudden, sharp noise from the fireplace caused all three men to jump slightly, the vampire excusing himself quickly before disappearing from view.

“I thought you said he was Romanian!” Stiles whispered loudly, and, really? _That’s_ what Stiles was going to focus on?

“No, I said I _met_ him in Romania. Pay attention.” Derek whispered back. 

“Oh, I am,” he flicked his eyes over to Derek and hoisted up his parchment, and for the first time Derek noticed that it had three columns: the questions and recorded answers, observations on vampire behavior, and, Derek narrowed his eyes, _observations on werewolf behavior_. 

“I’m not a test subject.”

“Dude, we all are, all the time. The only reason “human behavior” isn’t on here is because I ran out of room. But rest assured, the mental notes are stacking,” he tapped a finger against his temple. Derek, on the contrary, was not reassured, and held out a hand.

“Let me see what you wrote.”

“Academic confidentiality,” Stiles proclaimed, leaning away from the wolf, holding the paper as far away as possible without actually standing and moving.

“Academic advisor,” Derek countered, stretching over Stiles’ elongated form, fingers inches away from the paper as Stiles squawked indignantly and put his knees up in defense. Derek couldn’t help but let out a short laugh, reminded of the times he would play-wrestle with his cousins, as he leaned heavily on his right forearm, abs pressed against they boy’s shins, body pulled taut as he reached. Stiles squirmed beneath him, cheeks red and eyes bright as he valiantly kept the parchment just out of his grasp. Derek was just about to employ some claw action when a cough from the fireplace pulled both their attentions, and Derek realized exactly what he was doing and _holy SHIT_ how did it come to this? He scrambled up with impressive speed and this time sat a good foot from Stiles once the boy was situated again, flush still heavily present on his face.

“I was going to apologize for my absence, but it appears I’m interrupting something?” The vampire spoke, eyes pointed directly at Derek, who met the gaze evenly. 

“Just going over some defense techniques. Never know when you might need them.”

“Indeed,” he knew Aleksander wasn’t fooled in the least, but he had to give himself props for keeping a cool head while internally freaking out. “Well, you are a very dedicated teacher, Derek Hale. And Mr. Stilinski, I must apologize for cutting our chat short, but I’m needed elsewhere at the moment. Please don’t hesitate to send me an owl if you need _anything_ Mr. Hale can’t provide for you.” Derek glared at the vampire as Stiles nodded slightly, lips pressed tight as his eyebrows climbed high on his forehead.

“Sure – ” the word came out as more of a croak, and Stiles quickly cleared his throat before starting again, “Sure thing, and thanks again. I appreciate it.”

“Any time. Farewell, my friends,” Aleksander nodded at each of them before the fire flared once more, then fell into an easy flicker. Derek closed his eyes and let out an uneasy breath before opening them again and catching Stiles’ stare.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he wrapped his parchment up tight before slipping it into the inner pocket of his robe and standing, readjusting his jeans automatically before rolling his shoulders. They’d been sitting for roughly 45 minutes, not including their impromptu tussle, and Derek could feel his leg muscles cramping as he stood. It was another moment before he could walk without grimacing; not even werewolves were immune to the pins and needles feeling of a sleeping limb. 

“So, uh,” Stiles started as he straightened his robes, eyes cast down, “do you think Aleksander could ever come here for a – ”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to – ” 

“There’s no way I could consciously allow you to be in the same physical room with Aleksander,” he pointedly did not look at Stiles as he dragged his coat off the back of the couch. 

“Why? Am I that offensive?” Derek sighed and turned to Stiles, standing a few feet away with his arms crossed over his chest, eyebrows drawn in a scowl.

“Remember what I said about control?” He took a measured step forward, “I wasn’t exaggerating. Vampires have a tendency to submit to their urges quickly. And you,” he took another stride, further closing the gap between them, “have a very enticing scent. It could drive even the most controlled wolf to the edge of his restraints.” One more step, their chests were almost flush with each other, Stiles’ breath coming out quickly, as Derek practically nosed his hairline, “And I don’t know if he would want to drain you or keep you, so I’m not giving him the option.” 

“I- do you- ” Stiles squeaked out, just as Derek took a step back.

“Control.”

“You didn’t really answer my question.”

“You didn’t really ask one.” Stiles opened and closed his mouth several times before shaking his head and turning toward the door. 

“So, you’re the only half-human fri- uh, influence I’m allowed to have?”

“I never said that. I’m sure the mermen won’t be so quick to maul you.”

“I don’t know, I’ve been told I can swim like a fish,” and the mental image of Stiles, skimming easily through the currents, water sliding over pale flesh and broad shoulders, was enough to short out Derek’s brain for a moment, causing him to fumble with the sleeves of his coat as he tried to slip it on nonchalantly. He could tell Stiles was holding back a snort of laughter as he finally thrust a fist through the sleeve and pulled the lapels to straighten the collar before heading to the door. 

“So… no vampy visits?” Stiles asked as he slid past the doorframe. Derek groaned, rolling his eyes as the pair began walking toward the Great Hall.

“Is it really that important to you?”

“It’s _helpful_ , makes the laws make more sense when I get to know the subjects intimately.” Derek raised an eyebrow at that.

“Intimately?”

“Shit, I meant ‘personally’, _shit_.”

“Uh huh. I should have seen this coming. Especially from Aleksander.”

“What?”

“Vamps have a tendency to seduce people to their side, but for all the wrong reasons. It’s made progress on the laws slow at points, with accusations of glamour-induced voting, among other ploys.”

“And you think I’ve fallen for his tricks?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him.” Derek noticed the boy relax a bit at the last word, shoulders unbunching as he shot a smile towards him.

“Dude, don’t worry, werewolves over vampires any day,” Stiles assured.

“Really? You don’t find them… alluring?” The last word was practically spit out.

“Well, sure, they are, but to each his own, you know? Thin and pale doesn’t really do it for me.” Derek caught the brief flicker of honey-brown eyes skating over him before they faced resolutely forward. He tried his best to squash his pleased smile, but knew a smirk, at the very least, had been wrangled out of him.

“Which is ironic, because, hello…” Stiles waved a hand down from his face to his chest, and Derek couldn’t help but follow the arc. He shook his head.

“You’re not skinny.”

“I’m not what now?”

“You’re lean.” Stiles gave him a dubious look, so Derek stopped and took his wrist, holding his arm up to allow the sleeve of his robe to fall prey to gravity and slip down, revealing his forearms, corded with tendons and long, lean muscle. Derek wanted to bite it.

“Please tell me you’ve noticed these,” he said curtly, brain helpfully noting that he couldn’t _stop_ from noticing them. Stiles audibly gulped, his heartbeat ratcheted up, either at the contact or the comment, Derek wasn’t sure, but knew that _he_ was the cause of it. He traced a finger up a tendon, and pretending to not notice the way it made Stiles shiver.

“These are not the arms of a skinny man,” he let the appendage fall before resuming his stride. “You’re lean.”

“I, okay, I, uh, thanks, I guess,” Stiles stumbled both verbally and physically as he caught up to the professor. They continued to walk in silence, Stiles stealing glances every now and then, making Derek feel a bit smug. If he chose to look at it a certain way, the last few minutes could be seen as confessions of mutual attraction. But Derek knew better, much, much better, than to ever look at it that way. Stiles was just sharing – oversharing – a personal preference, and Derek had merely made an observation. An observation he’d made whenever the boy came into view. That was it. 

Or so he told himself.


	8. You Fuckers Made Me Spill the Beans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo sorry for the long hiatus! Things got crazy, then I was out of the country, then I had writer's block like whoa.
> 
> This chapter fought me tooth and nail, and I’m still not sure why. I ended up scrapping everything I’d written before. And then I scrapped it again… and then it became the chapter that wouldn’t end. So, here we are.
> 
> Also, alternating POVs throughout the chapter.
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me! Please enjoy this doubly long chapter!

Stiles did the math. He actually sat down and made a list, cataloguing the hours spent together, trying to rationalize the way his heart beat a little faster every time Hale walked into a room. How, over the past month and a half, his favorite day had changed from Sunday to Wednesday, which promised one-on-one time, often in a cramped office where it wasn’t so weird to inch closer in order to share newfound information.

The most surprising part of all of it was how _comfortable_ it was. Stiles was sure on that first day that he’d forever be a jittery, nervous wreck around Derek Hale, what with his chiseled cheekbones and body-by-Zeus and brain the size of a planet. But since that second week, everything became easy, natural even. While he never forgot he was his professor, it was easier to remember Hale was a number of other things as well. He shared quidditch anecdotes and stories of his time with the Aurors, all of which had Stiles riveted. He didn’t talk much about his family, only mentioning Laura in that she was currently traveling, but would hopefully be available for an interview sometime in the next month. It was a topic Stiles had learned not to broach, but was insanely curious about, and on which he might have to do some independent research. 

However, with the quidditch season now in full swing and a demanding amount of coursework waiting to be completed at the end of each day, he barely had time to just hang out, let alone dive into the recesses of the library in the vain hope of finding something on the Hale family. He played around with the idea of creating a spell to do the looking for him, something of a “search apparatus” so his eyes wouldn’t have to go all googley. Maybe he could get Isaac to help him on Sunday, now that his Patronus was getting to be a bit more distinct. Still couldn’t quite tell what it would be, but it was no longer just a light wisp.

Stiles also found himself, more often than not, paired with the professor when class time allowed for dueling matches. He sometimes tried calculating the minutes left vs. what was on the syllabus to see if they’d face off that day. He’d like to think he was getting better, but still had yet to land _rictusempra_. Didn’t stop him from throwing it every single time, though.

The lunchtable had morphed a bit throughout the month, and could practically be used as a poster for House diversity. Danny had convinced Lydia and Jackson to join them on a near-daily basis, and Isaac, who had made the Hufflepuff team as chaser and back-up seeker, pulled Boyd along with him as they looked for seats away from his team captain’s newly minted ex. 

Conversations ranged from quidditch (three team captains at one table made for an interesting time, unless you happened to hate quidditch, in which case get out) to classes and everything in between. The hot topic of the week was the impending Hogsmeade trip: where would they go, what would they buy, should they go for the day or the weekend, as only 7th years were permitted to do. 

“We’re _totally_ staying the whole weekend. It’s practically sacrilege to not use this gift we waited 7 years for.”

“Why do you care so much, Stilinski? It’s not like you have anyone to hook up with.” Stiles gave Jackson a dirty glare, but couldn’t rebuke his claim. He hadn’t really thought about the fact that everyone would be bedroom hopping the moment the chaperones’ doors were shut, and he had no one to hop to or be hopped on by. But still, the novelty of being away from the school grounds for a couple of days, with his buddies no less, was more than enough to get him geared up.

The plan was simple; Lydia and Allison, Scott and Stiles, and Danny and Jackson would be sharing lodgings. Then, once the coast was clear, musical rooms would incur, sending Scott to Allison’s, Lydia to Jackson’s, and Danny to Stiles’. Stiles tried to argue that he and Danny could just share a room from the get-go, but if anyone had seen the reservations no one would believe that Scott and Jackson would willingly spend an entire evening together, and the jig would be up. 

“Besides,” Allison said as she bumped up against Stiles on their way to Arithmancy, “you never know, you and Danny might hit it off again.” Stiles grinned ruefully at that.

“Nah, I can’t see Danny slumming it with the likes of me. He’s too much of a big shot now.”

“Someday you’re going to realize what a catch you are.”

“And on that day I’ll jump out of my wheelchair and do a dance,” he promised as he held the classroom door open for her while she shook her head. 

____________________________

 

Derek was packing up his materials for the weekend when the hairs stood on the back of his neck, causing him to whip around in time to see Harris stride into the classroom, black cloth billowing around his slender frame. He wasn’t too surprised to see him; in the past few weeks the potions master had sought him out several times, and each time his appearance had been preceded by a quick, skin-prickling sensation. It kept Derek on edge, though the man had been nothing but pleasant and amiable since his first day there. 

“Mr. Hale, I was wondering what your plans were for the evening,” he said as he casually made his way down the center aisle. Derek shrugged, hoisting up the box of different colored baubles and slipping it easily into the cabinet at the back of the room. He knew it was a Hogsmeade weekend, and as a new teacher he’d be expected to escort kids to and from the wizard village. 

“Not much,” he shrugged, going back for the second box, not really meeting the other professor’s eye. “I’ve got to be ready to corral a bunch of 3rd and 4th years tomorrow.”

“Deaton managed to wrangle you into chaperoning the youngers, huh?” Derek shrugged again, fitting the box next to the other one before closing and locking cabinet doors. When he turned he caught the way Harris’ eyes jumped up to meet his, that same, calm smile plastered on his face. “I was hoping I could persuade you to take Finstock’s spot as a weekend chaperone, for the 7th years. He came down with the fire flecks, and needs a few days to recuperate. What do you say? It’s a better option than counting 3rd years all day. Practically a paid vacation.” 

“Watching a bunch of 7th years screw around while they think we have no idea what they’re doing? Sounds idyllic.” Harris gave him a wry grin.

“You might be surprised how relaxing it can be. Come on, a couple nights out of the castle will do you good.” Derek couldn’t deny he’d been feeling a bit cramped lately, even with his weekly runs in the Forbidden Forest. A change of scenery couldn’t hurt, plus it might be interesting to see the Hogsmeade trip from the other side of things. He set his books into a neat pile, smoothed out the feather on his quill, and looked up into the other man’s waiting face. 

“I’m in.”

____________________________

Stiles took a deep breath and observed the collection of fifty or so 7th years gathered in the Great Hall, waiting impatiently for the chaperones to show up so they could make their way to Hogsmeade. The excitement in the air was nearly palpable, everyone chatting and nudging and getting a little handsy in anticipation of what’s to come. Stiles was a little anxious at the thought of Harris being one of the chaperones, but Finstock was all right, if not a little insane. 

“Ready?” Scott asked, hoisting both his and Allison’s bags over his shoulder. They’d been looking forward to this trip for years, so it was almost surreal that it was actually happening. Stiles nodded, gripping the leather straps of his bag tightly, eyes skimming the sea of faces for the rest of their group. He assumed Danny and Lydia had some fancy duties to attend to before leaving, but Jackson should be around. Not that he had any inclination to seek out Jackson, but still, it was nice to know where his supposed group was. After a few scans he caught sight of the tawny haired Slytherin leaning against one of the House point-counters, looking bored and arrogant as always.

“Please tell me we don’t have to actually hang out with Jackson; he’s just a gear in this room-swap mechanism, right?” Stiles asked, swinging his gaze over to Scott and Allison. 

“He’s not so bad once you get to know him,” Allison said, tucking a dark strand of hair behind her ear. Stiles half-wondered if it was house-loyalty or genuine feeling that made her defend the other man. 

“There’s Danny and Lydia,” Scott pointed out, expertly avoiding the question. The Head Boy and Girl meandered in from the large doors to the east, followed by the chaperones. Professors Gilch and Hardcastle gave a seasoned look to their charges, having been the 7th year ladies’ chaperones for the past eight years or so. It was well known that they were no-nonsense during the day, and out like a light by 10:15. Stiles envied them that reliability; Harris and Finstock were still finding their grooves, and in the past year had proven to be a bit unpredictable. It would take a certain level of finesse to outmaneuver them. Harris entered next, face set in a near grimace, like being around this many students at once was the most distasteful thing imaginable. Stiles was contemplating how they could manipulate that attitude to work in their favor when the last chaperone came through the doors. He’d been expecting to see the crazy hair and overly wide eyes of the flying instructor, but was instead greeted by the drawn eyebrows and artfully designed stubble of the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. His stomach fell a little as Hale looked up, swept his eyes across the room, and somehow locked onto his in a manner of seconds. 

“Aw _man_ , Hale’s the chaperone? This could be a total game-changer!” Scott groused, shifting the bags again. Points to Scott for remembering all the werewolf trivia Stiles had rattled off to him.

“Yeah, good luck getting around him, guys,” Allison added, scowling in the professor’s direction. Now it was Stiles’ turn to be defensive.

“Hey, he’s not so bad once you get to know him,” Allison couldn’t help but cock her eyebrows as her words were handed back to her. Stiles continued, “It’s only been, what, five years since he was in our spot; maybe he’ll go easy on us.”

“I hope so, I don’t need freaky werewolf senses letting him know exactly what we’re up to,” Scott murmured, and Stiles swears he saw Hale smirk a little before lining up next to Harris. 

Danny and Lydia took the whole group through the rules and procedures for the weekend. No drinking. Everyone in their room by 10. No boys in girls’ rooms. No girls in boys’ rooms. No summoning of spirits. Any and all duels must be held outside. No harassing the local cat population.

“Failure to adhere to these rules will result in your immediate return to Hogwarts, followed by a disciplinary hearing,” Danny finished, trying to sound serious, and failing miserably. Everyone knew no one had been expelled for stepping out of bounds during a Hogsmeade trip. The disciplinary hearings were more a way to embarrass the shit out of a kid than exact any real punishment. 

The room was practically vibrating with pent up energy as Lydia instructed everyone to get into groups of four in an effort to streamline the carriage process. Stiles couldn’t help but keep glancing over at Hale, watching as his face contorted into looks of frustration or mild annoyance. He couldn’t even imagine the conversations and odors he was likely picking up on, whether he wanted to or not. The man was in for a long, painful weekend.

____________________________

 

As soon as he’d walked into the room, Derek regretted agreeing to go on the trip. It was like being punched in the face by a tidal wave as the hormones came rolling off the students and right into his nose, sweet and tangy and pungent. He could feel the itching in his fingers as his claws began to lengthen without consent, aching to unleash that primal instinct, to take and own. A shuddered breath ripped through him as he quickly glanced over the crowd of students. It wasn’t until he found a steady pair of dark-amber eyes staring back at him that he felt balanced. His mind settled, and he knew this would be the worst of it, the stench of excitement and nervousness, possibility and sex, multiplied by fifty in a contained area… if he could handle these few minutes he could handle anything. 

The Head Boy and Girl went through their whole spiel, but Derek didn’t hear a word of it. He was so focused on not wolfing out, senses instinctively reaching out for that warm spark, concentrating on his scent, his voice, his heartbeat. It had been during the last full moon that he’d realized Stiles was his anchor, or at least the closest thing he had to a physical representation of an anchor while at Hogwarts. At first he’d been concerned that his senses honed in on the boy as he tried to suppress the shift, but managed to talk himself into the belief that Stiles was just the symbol for the student body as a whole, since he was the student he spent the most time with. He did find it kind of ironic that the person most open and eager to learn about Derek’s wolf-side was the one he clung to in order to stay human. 

After what felt like an eternity the horde of students began to move toward the doors, shuffling around and lining up to await their carriages into the village. Harris and Gilch climbed into the lead carriage, leaving Derek and Hardcastle to make sure all the students made it out of the castle grounds. It was amazing how much his head cleared after every departure, until there were only a handful of students left.

“Are you ready for this?” Hardcastle asked as they climbed into the last carriage, thestral tossing his skeletal head around impatiently. 

“Honestly? I have no idea what I’m doing here.” The veteran professor smiled and patted his knee in an almost motherly fashion.

“Just keep your eyes open and your door locked, and you’ll be fine. Handsome young man like you must know all about what goes on during these trips,” she smiled a little devilishly, “I’m sure you had all the girls knocking on your door.” Derek felt the tips of his ears go red, both at the assumption and the fact that the chaperones knew _exactly_ what was going on. The students thought they were so slick, while really it was that the professors couldn’t be assed to do anything about it.

“So what’s my actual purpose?” Hardcastle smirked, turning to watch the scenery go by at a leisurely pace before answering.

“The illusion of supervision. Plus, making sure no one does anything _monumentally_ stupid. Just, don’t stress yourself out over something that’s inevitable. There’s one chaperone to every 13 students, if they want to fool around, they’re going to fool around.” The woman was making a lot of sense, though it still felt weird being told to cast a blind eye on all the debauchery that was expected to happen this weekend.

“So Harris was right, pretty much a paid weekend vacation?” That seemed to grab her attention.

“Harris? Did Headmaster Deaton not ask you to come?”

“No, Finstock came down with something, and Harris asked me to cover for him.” The older woman pursed her lips, looking a bit more concerned than she had previously. He was about to ask her what was wrong, if he should go back to the castle, when her hand fell to his knee again.

“Definitely keep your door locked,” she patted down firmly before turning to look out the small carriage window. Derek wanted to ask what she meant, where the concern was coming from, but he could read body-language as well as his native tongue, and knew he’d get no more out of her this trip. 

____________________________

The sense of freedom was almost palpable as the students clambered out of their carriages and took off into the village, shucking off the responsibilities and expectations held to them with every step. Stiles took in a lungful of fresh, school-free air before hauling his bag out of the bottom compartment and heading into the small inn. At first glance one would assume such a structure would never be able to accommodate more than 10 or so patrons, but, like most magical dwellings, it was bigger on the inside, hallways stretching down hundreds of feet, providing plenty of room for students, chaperones, and then some. Stiles shot his most charming smile at the inn’s proprietor, which earned him a calculating look before he was handed a pair of skeleton keys. 

“I know your father,” she muttered, and Stiles honestly wasn’t sure if she meant it as a threat or a warning. Everyone knew Madame Rosmerta had owned and operated the Three Broomsticks since forever, so it wouldn’t be a shock to know she had tangled with his dad’s own brand of teenage rebelliousness back in the day. He decided it was safest to just give her a quick nod and hope she’d find no reason to call his dad this weekend and likely embarrass the hell out of them both. 

“Room 301,” he recited as he tossed the extra key at Scott, who fumbled in catching it, seeing as his hands were full of luggage. Stiles was kind of antsy to get his stuff put away and himself out into the village. It’d been too long since he was last at Honeydukes, and he was sporting a mad craving for some Fizzing Whizbees. He took the stairs two at a time, leaving Scott behind to wait for Allison like the gentleman that he was. 

After depositing his bag on the bed closest to the window, Stiles was flying back down the stairs, breezing by the other students just setting out to find their rooms, and, of course, running smack into a chaperone.

But not the one he’d like to find himself pressed against.

Harris looked at him disdainfully, spindly hands smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles out of his suit jacket. 

“10 points from Gryffindor; you need to watch where you’re going, Mr. Stilinski.” Stiles’ lips quavered as he determinedly kept his mouth shut, well aware that there was no winning in a points war against Harris, he’d just take another 10 from the House, which they really couldn’t afford right now. He was just about to slink past him when a hand came down on his shoulder.

“Am I going to have to keep an eye on you this weekend?” Stiles owed himself at least five butterbeers for successfully suppressing the groan-head-eye-roll that would normally have accompanied such a veiled threat from Harris. 

“No sir,” he gritted out, fighting the urge to shake the surprisingly strong hand off of his shoulder. Harris narrowed his eyes, but released his hold on the boy. Even as Stiles walked away he could feel the phantom fingertips gripping into his skin, and, once he knew he was out of range, shook himself almost violently in an effort to get rid of that uncomfortable sensation. He tried not to let the encounter dampen his mood, and continued his short journey to Honeydukes.

The shop was buzzing with activity, but Stiles was relieved to see it was nowhere near the overcapacity he was used to seeing on Hogsmeade weekends. The fact that he could get in and out of Honeydukes in record time and without getting an elbow to the eye was reason enough to come on the 7th years only trip. He skipped out the door, mouth and bag full to bursting with an assortment of candy, and caught sight of Allison and Lydia heading into Madame Malkin’s Tailors just across the road, with Jackson and Scott hanging back a few feet, possibly arguing, possibly coming up with a plan to get out of shopping. Stiles had a foot out on the road when Lydia’s mandate of new robes flashed through his brain. He was about to make his escape when Scott shouted his name, flagging him down from across the cobblestone street. Stiles shot him a look of betrayal before making his way over, trying for all the world to avoid the sharp look in Lydia’s eyes, the small curl of her lips as she sized him up. Any hope that she had forgotten her demands went promptly out the window.

“Robes first, then we’ll explore the rest of the uniform, and definitely something date-casual,” she decided, causing Stiles to give himself a once-over. He thought he looked pretty good for throwing an outfit together in less than 30 seconds. 

“Well you guys have fun, me and Jackson will catch up with you later!” Scott said, clapping a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, but didn’t get far as Stiles pivoted and grabbed his jacket with both fists.

“No way are you leaving me here. This is _your_ fault.” Scott’s grin never faltered, and Stiles wondered what he’d done recently to deserve such abandonment. 

“Dude, it’ll be fine. You’re in capable hands. We’re just going to run over to Spintwitches, check out their new quidditch gear.”

“Oh, good,” Allison hopped down from the steps, making Stiles’ desertion complete, “I need to look at brooms, I’m about ready for an upgrade.”

“I hate all of you,” Stiles groused, pointing a damning finger at the three traitors as Lydia pulled him into the shop.  
____________________________

It took two and a half hours, three shops, and a frightening amount of Galleons, but finally Lydia nodded approvingly at the progress they’d made. 

“We’re meeting everyone at BB’s, so go put these on,” she shoved a bag into his already full hands, “and meet me out front.” Stiles was left sputtering, jaw hanging open, until he realized Lydia had bought him something. _Him_. _Something_. In a flurry of limbs and bags he somehow managed to get the changing room door open. Even though they’d spent the whole afternoon together trying on clothes he’s still surprised at how well the grey button-up sits on his frame, tailored perfectly to fit his broad shoulders and tapered waist, sleeves actually ending where they should. He slipped out of his red corduroy pants and pulled on the dark slacks Lydia had chosen to complement the shirt. She’d even gotten him a pair of loafers to finish the whole look off. 

Before he could wonder too much on _why_ Lydia had gifted him this new outfit he was shoving his old clothes into the recently emptied bag and pushing open the door of his changing room sanctuary. It felt a little off, going out into public without a second or third layer on, but Stiles strode through the store with purpose and found Lydia waiting for him on the steps, flicking her wand as she sent and received messages. Probably from Jackson, wondering where they are. 

“Ready to go?” She asked nonchalantly, tucking her wand into her pocket and turning to give him a once over, which turned into a twice over as a grin pulled at her glossed lips. 

“Oh this is going to be _fun_.” 

“This? What’s ‘this’? Lydia? Lydia?” But the redhead was already clicking her heels down the cobblestone drive, leaving Stiles no option but to chase after her, arms laden with bags and garments. 

 

____________________________

 

It turned out that chaperoning for the 7th years was just as easy as Harris had promised. Tomorrow would undoubtedly be a different story, with all the other students joining in the fray, but for now it was nice to just be able to hang back and watch the students interact with each other in a different environment. 

He took a deep breath and allowed himself to relax, mind wandering to his own Hogsmeade days; gorging himself on chocolate frogs, getting set up on dates at Madame Pudifoot’s Tea Shop, sneaking behind buildings with the other quidditch players to smoke. He couldn’t help but grin as the memories consumed him, lulled into complacency by the steady beating of a familiar heart. 

“Didn’t I tell you?” Derek couldn’t believe how easily he’d been snuck up on, how much he’d let his guard down, and turned to find Harris ambling up to him, a small smirk on his face. 

“You were right,” he answered easily, crossing his arms across his chest as his eyes tracked a boy and girl giggling incessantly as they stumbled out of Dominic Maestro’s, the local music shop. 

“You should join me for dinner. Lucrezia always keeps a table reserved for me on school weekends. I don’t normally invite Finstock, but,” his gray eyes flitted quickly across his frame, “I think you’ll make better company. Not as prone to shouting as good old Bobby. Unless you’ve been keeping things from me?” Derek cocked a confused eyebrow at the other professor, which only got him a grin in return.

“Okay then. 7 o’clock? Bubbling Brew?” Derek nodded, thinking it might be nice to get to know one of his colleagues beyond teaching in adjacent rooms. He’d mostly kept to himself, steering clear of the teachers’ lounge and only participating in polite conversation when absolutely necessary. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he probably talked to Stiles about five times more than anyone else in the entire castle. No wonder the kid became his anchor with Derek fully realizing it. 

It probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to build some other relationships within the school.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”  
____________________________

Stiles and Lydia walked past the line of people waiting for tables and through the restaurant doors. The place was pretty swank, nicer than Stiles generally went for, but hell, they were adults now. Almost. They deserved some fine dining every now and then. 

Unfortunately Stiles was still burdened with the spoils of their shopping trip, and ran into no less than five other patrons on the way to their table, breaking the illusion that he was indeed an adult worthy of a nice restaurant. 

“Oh thank Merlin,” he sighed as they finally reached the table, letting the bags fall and slumping into the only available chair, sandwiched between Scott and Danny. He looked up in time to catch the end of Danny’s lingering stare, and remembered the new look he was sporting. He shot a glance towards Lydia, who smiled and winked in return. Shit.

“I really like your outfit, Stiles,” Allison said, leaning past Scott to get a better look.

“Whaaat, these old things?” Lydia shot daggers at him, “I mean, thanks. Lydia painstakingly built-”

“Oh it was nothing, really.” Lydia cut in, still giving him ‘the look.’ “But Stiles does pull it off well.”

“You really do,” Danny almost whispered, ducking his head in a bit closer. Stiles felt his cheeks flare a little at the sudden attention. He wasn’t used to being complimented on his clothes, it was a bit harder to process than, “Hey, nice catch,” or “Damn good flying.” Those were attributed to hard won skills. Not how something looked draped across his body. It was a completely different mentality. 

“Can we order?” Jackson huffed, likely equal parts hungry and annoyed that Stiles was getting the attention he was used to raking in. Stiles was about to shoot off a smartass remark when he noticed the two men taking a seat in the back. Though the lights were dimmer, there was no mistaking that hair, those shoulders, that stubble. The man was like a beacon to Stiles’ libido, and he was all too happy to hunker down behind a menu and hide his overheated face for a few moments. 

____________________________

It took Derek literally seconds to zero in on the table of students, and just one more to pinpoint the young man slouching in his chair, getting leaned in on by the Head Boy. And Derek could see why. Even sitting like he was, it was clear Stiles was finally wearing clothing that actually _fit_ him, showcasing all of his assets. His mind raced with excuses to go over and talk to him, somehow get him to stand so he could fully appreciate the new look, but before he could come up with anything reasonable he was being ushered to his chair.

And it was better this way, he assumed. Stiles with his peers, Derek with his colleague, each staunchly in the world they supposedly belonged in. This was good. 

“So what do you think?” Derek raised his eyebrows. He’d been so focused on trying to _not_ obsess over the pattering of Stiles’ heartbeat that he’d missed Harris’ conversation entirely. 

“Of…” Derek trailed off, hoping the other man would give him some kind of sign as to what he should be responding to. Harris flicked his eyes to the menu in his hands. Oh, dinner, right. He shook his head a little, trying to will the steady beating to the back of his subconscious so he could at least pretend to be a functioning member of society for an evening.  
____________________________

Stiles couldn’t help the twist in his gut as he watched the two professors sitting together, Harris leaning in a bit too much, Hale politely nodding in increments and keeping eye contact with his colleague. 

Scott prodded at his shoulder, pulling his focus back to his own table. He hadn’t even noticed the waitress bring their butterbeers, and he eagerly grabbed the bottle and sloshed the sweet, thick liquid down his throat to get rid of the odd taste he could feel raising in his esophagus. 

“You okay?” Danny asked, and Stiles saw his dinner companions watching the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he drained his drink in one go, cheeks hallowing as he realized he was sucking air, and dropped the empty bottle to the table. He took a shaky breath and belched, loud enough to grab the attention of several patrons, including both professors, one looking almost fond, the other downright murderous. Stiles couldn’t help but grin and tip the bottle toward them before turning back to Danny’s inquisitive look, staunchly ignoring Lydia and Jackson’s wide-eyed glares. 

“Sure, fine, great,” he rattled off, “could use another one of these, though,” he said, shaking the bottle as he wriggled around in his seat, searching the room for their waitress, and if his eyes lingered on Hale’s face a bit longer than necessary, no one needed to know. Except Hale chose that exact moment to glance over towards Stiles, gazes locked long enough that it couldn’t have been a fleeting, accidental scan. Stiles could feel his cheeks burn as he blinked rapidly before wrenching away, desperate to look anywhere else.  
____________________________

“Of all the students…” Harris muttered, shooting dark looks at the round table near the wall. Derek had to smirk a little at that; he’d have to ask Stiles later what exactly he’d done to rankle Harris so badly. He took this opportunity to toss his own glance over, locking with the sharp amber eyes that were already trained on his face. Their gazes held for seconds before Stiles broke, face flushing as he sought out any kind of distraction. 

“What’s he doing now?” Harris grumbled, stabbing at his side salad a little more viciously than strictly necessary.

“Nothing,” as the word left his mouth, Derek instinctively knew it was the wrong answer. He’d basically admitted to staring at his student for no reason but to look at him. As expected Harris furrowed his brows, narrowing his eyes toward Derek’s face when, thankfully, their food arrived.

____________________________

“Are Hale and Harris on a _date_?” Scott whispered, and Stiles prayed the room was just noisy enough that Hale couldn’t hear them. 

“I don’t know, how would I know?” Stiles seethed, his stomach flip-flopping at the thought. Lydia pursed her lips, squinting a little at the table in the dark-lit corner.

“I could see it,” she said after a moment of deliberation. And there was that twist in his gut again. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Hale to be in a relationship (okay, maybe, a little), it was that Harris was _the worst_. Literally. In the whole school. Possibly the world.

“I think Hale could do better,” Danny added, absent-mindedly pushing the asparagus stems around his plate.

“Uh, yeah,” the words were out before Stiles knew he was saying them, and he suddenly wished there was another menu he could hide behind. Scott was barely suppressing his grin as he nudged him slightly with his elbow. 

“Are we seriously discussing the teachers’ relationship on our break from school?” And for once, Stiles was grateful for Jackson’s presence. 

“Okay, let’s talk dessert instead. Hey, Stiles, you should split with Danny, right?” Stiles would have laughed at how forced Allison’s words sounded if they weren’t directed at him. He instinctually glanced over at Hale before sharing an awkward smile with Danny. 

“Oh, good idea, Danny never finishes a whole dessert.” And there she was. The likely orchestrator of this entire mess. Suddenly the new clothes and seating arrangement made a lot more sense. He was about to save them all a lot of embarrassment by assuring that he and Danny were never getting back together when he felt a hand on his knee, and his heart stopped before speeding up again.

“Hope you like treacle tart,” damn those dimples, how could Stiles refuse? He nodded quickly, half his focus concentrated on the warm hand still covering his knee. Was this normal? What was happening? He glanced back over at the other table and froze as he saw Harris glaring at him, Hale nowhere in sight. The look of mild hatred was something he was used to from the potions master, but it had never felt so _direct_ before. Like there was a reason beyond “annoying student” for the complete abhorrence pouring off of him right now. Real fear started creeping into his brain, causing his heart to speed up and his knuckles to whiten as he gripped the edge of the tablecloth. 

“Huh, thought you’d go for some spotted dick,” Stiles tore his eyes from gaping hell chasm he’d almost been sucked into to glare at Jackson, but Danny just laughed good naturedly, and that was twice in one night that Jackson Whittemore saved one, Stiles Stilinski. 

“We’ve been over this, you’re not my type.” The resounding “Oooooohhhhhhh!” from Scott almost got them kicked out, but after Lydia promised a world-class tip they were allowed to order dessert, so long as they left immediately afterward.  
____________________________

Derek was pretty proud; he’d only caught himself glancing over at the other table twice (and only while Harris was distracted), and even participated in most of the conversations. Harris didn’t prod too much, and actually proved to be a pretty decent dinner companion. Derek could see them maybe becoming work friends, and it might be nice to have someone to talk to that doesn’t leave him with guilty thoughts afterwards.

It was the sudden increase in the heartbeat he’d pushed to the back of his brain that made him swing his eyes over to Stiles in the middle of one of Harris’ rants. The boy’s cheeks had gone ruddy as the Head Boy – Danny, if he remembered right – leaned into his space, and Derek could read the expression on his face clear as day. It felt like a punch to the gut.

“I need to –” he started, then just stood up and made his way to the bathroom, figuring he could explain later. Once he’d come up with a believable explanation. Somehow he didn’t think _Someone was making heart-eyes at a student I want to fucking devour_ was going to cut it. 

He splashed cold water onto his face, rubbing the droplets into his eyes as he willed his own heart to slow down, even as he could sense Stiles’ picking up again, faster than before. He inhaled deeply, fighting the urge to run out and check on the boy. Only two things got a heart beating that fast; fear and arousal, and he’d put money on the latter. He had to get out of here. 

By the time he got back to the table Harris had already ordered him a drink and taken care of the bill, so Derek figured the least he could do was sit and try to enjoy one fireball with the man, even if it would do nothing for him.  
____________________________

“Made it!” Allison crowed as they ran into the hotel at 9:57. Professor Gilch stood watch at the entrance, her lightly wrinkled face completely unimpressed.

“ _Rooms_ by 10:00. Better keep running,” she said before turning her gaze back out to the street, no doubt having kept a headcount of every student who’d entered so she knew exactly who she’d have to track down later. Scott grinned, grabbed Allison with one hand and Stiles with the other, and bolted up the stairs, leaving remnants of shopping bags in their wake, which Danny dutifully gathered. He and Lydia would help with roomchecks, which would basically signal the all-clear for room swapping. At the start of the trip Stiles had been looking forward to this, just kicking back with Danny – or alone, if Danny had found someone else to share the night with – but now, with the events at dinner, he wasn’t sure what to expect.

“So, you and Danny, gonna rekindle that?” Scott asked, stripping off his shirt and reading Stiles’ thoughts. Rude.

“I dunno man, it might be too weird, you know? We broke it off on such good terms, I don’t want to chance things getting weird between us,” Stiles sprawled on his bed, absently picking at the bottom buttons of his shirt. 

“What if he’s, like, the one, and you just didn’t realize it cause you were too young at the time?” Stiles threw an incredulous look at him.

“It happened literally less than six months ago. I don’t think I gained _that_ much wisdom over the summer.” Scott shrugged and ran a hand through his hair while the over absently patted stupidly toned stomach. Damn that kid and his natural ability to build muscle. 

“Well, if you do decide to go for it, here,” he tossed a foil packet onto bed before slipping into the bathroom to brush his teeth and probably exfoliate his face. Scott was a considerate lover, no doubt about that.

Stiles fingered the edges of the wrapper, trying to recall the memories of him and Danny together, see if there was anything besides pretty awesome sex to keep the flame flickering. But even the sex memories were getting kind of hazy, slowly being replaced by current fantasies that included growls and flashing eyes, strong, impossibly strong hands and _stubble_. His hand slipped down from where his fingers had been idly playing with the button to palm at his dick, getting himself half-hard with just a few rubs. The click of the bathroom door brought him back to reality, hand flying away from his cock, sitting up so fast it made his head spin. 

“How do I look?”

“Were you not already spoken for I’d take you in a manly fashion.”

“Cause I’m pretty?” Stiles couldn’t help the snort that followed, he literally loved this guy.

“Cause you’re pretty.”  
____________________________

It wasn’t much longer before a gentle knock came from their door. Scott opened it to reveal a grinning Danny, small overnight bag in hand.

“You’re good to go. Keep an eye out for Hale and Harris, though, Arif said he saw them wandering down on the second floor.”

“Thanks man, and hey, have fun tonight,” Scott tossed them both a wink before slipping into the hallway. Danny shot a confused look over to Stiles as he eased the door shut, inadvertently letting it slam a little as his eyes settled on the foil wrapper resting on Stiles’ thigh.

“Were you planning on –”

“What? Me? No, no. I just, no. This was Scott, he thought, apparently they all thought…” Stiles trailed off, hand running through his hair as he looked down at the garish bedspread. 

“Yeah, I kind of picked up on that. Not too subtle, are they?”

“Like a herd of trolls.” 

“But, if you wanted, we could…” Danny glanced at the bed, then looked up and caught Stiles’ eyes. He felt the blood rise to his cheeks as he thought about it; big, strong hands touching him, holding him down, the sweet feel of skin on skin, the burn of hazel eyes raking over him-

Except, Danny’s eyes weren’t hazel. Stiles swallowed tightly and looked away for a few seconds, before meeting the deep brown eyes again. He was surprised to find an understanding smile on his friend’s face.

“I get it. I mean, I kind of figured, with the way you guys were acting earlier-”

“Wait, figured what? You guys? How was I acting?”

“The kind of obvious eye-fucking.”

“WHAT? With _who_?” 

“You and Hale… don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody.” Stiles groaned and flopped back onto the bed.

“There’s nothing to _tell_ , besides the fact that I have a massive crush on my hot werewolf teacher, which is, I guess, _something_ to tell, but it’s more pathetic than scandalous.”

“What I saw was definitely some two-way eyefucking. Especially when I put my hand on your knee. I thought he was going to come over and toss me out the window.”

“You were _watching_ him?”

“Can you blame me? He’s kind of hard to ignore.” Stiles rolled his eyes but nodded in acceptance. Derek Hale was a beautiful, beautiful man, and so far out of Stiles league it wasn’t even funny. After a few moments of silence Danny sat on the opposite bed, their knees nearly touching. “You want to talk about it?” Stiles looked up, a little shocked at his luck, that he’d managed to swindle the best people ever into hanging out with him. A part of him really wished that he could fall head over heals for Danny, it would make everything so much _simpler_ , but that just wouldn't be his style, now would it?

“Nah, I appreciate it though, really.” He stood up and stretched out his back, sighing as he worked out a kink with a satisfying ‘pop’. “I think I’m going to run down to the vending. How much trouble will I get in if I’m found?”

“Unless you’re caught actively sneaking into someone else’s room, you’ll just get sent back here. Or so they say.” Danny said, leaning back onto his claimed bed. Stiles nodded, slipping the key into his trouser pants and turning the knob.

____________________________

This was bad. Something was wrong. Smells were coming at him faster than he could process, making his head throb. His fingertips ached to release his claws. His heartbeat would speed up and slow down in increments. And the _smells_ , it was like everyone and everything that had ever been in this room was in Derek’s head. Normally he could sift it out, shut it down, but…

Something was wrong.

____________________________

 

Stiles ended up wandering the halls, hands shoved into his pockets as he blocked out the sounds coming from the rooms around him. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all. Or maybe he should go back and accept Danny’s offer of mindless physical gratification, then at least he’d feel like he got something out of this weekend. Besides a new outfit and a bag full of candy, anyway. 

He turned the corner and stopped, heartbeat ratcheting up as he took in the man slumped against the wall, dark head pressed warily against the floral wallpaper. There was pretty much no way Hale _didn’t_ know he was there, but he still felt the need to clear his throat to announce his presence, lest he look like a creepy stalker.

“You okay?” He asked as Hale shifted, rolling his head to the left to meet his gaze. The older man looked a little (okay, a _lot_ ) worse for wear; shoulders slumped, with dark circles under his eyes and sweat dampening his hair. 

“I just, needed some air.” Stiles couldn’t help but twist around to look behind him, make sure he hadn’t stumbled into a sylvan glen in his wanderings, but no, same dingy hallway he had been in from the beginning.

“You, uh, didn’t quite make it.” 

“It got overwhelming, the smells, of _everyone_ , I couldn’t focus…” he trailed off, palm rubbing into his eye in harsh circles. Stiles never would have believed that a werewolf could look vulnerable, but the truth was half-lying right in front of him. 

“C’mon man, let’s get you outside,” he stepped forward, hand outstretched. Hale grabbed onto it, palm searing hot and just a touch clammy. Stiles pulled, and either he was stronger than he’d thought or Hale was overcompensating, because the werewolf came crashing into his side, pushing them both into the opposite wall, clasped hands stuck between them, with Hale’s head resting on the ball of Stiles’ shoulder. He tentatively placed his free hand on the older man’s arm, which was just as warm as the rest of him. 

“Dude, are you okay? Is this some kind of full moon thing?”

“Full moon’s not for two more weeks,” Hale huffed out, voice muffled by Stiles’ shoulder.

“Okay, so, what’s up, you’re radiating heat like wildfire,” Hale shuddered against him, and Stiles instinctively started rubbing his hand up and down his arm, muscles tensing and relaxing underneath his touch.

“Not sure,” there was a pause, and then, “this helps.”

“What does?”

“You, your smell, I need…” Hale trailed off as he shoved his nose into the space where Stiles’ neck met his shoulder, taking deep whiffs, tracing his nose along the flesh that was practically tingling with the unexpected contact. Stiles gasped as Hale’s left hand curled around his hip, holding him steady while he breathed his full. 

“Oookay, uh, that’s fine, this is all fine, except maybe not _here_ , where anyone can find us?” He felt Hale nod, a brush of lips against his clavicle, causing a line of heat that went straight to his groin. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep any and all groans locked in. He’d probably be excused for cutting curfew if he was found helping a professor, and likely expelled if he was found rutting against one. Especially when said professor was as out of it as Hale was. 

“Can you walk? We’re not that far, just down the hall, down the stairs, and out the door.”

“I can apparate.”

“What? No, no way, not in this shape.”

“Can you?” Stiles grimaced.

“Failed my test last month. Lost an inch off my hair, honestly I just forgot it was there.” Hale huffed out a laugh, the warm puff of air searing his already tender skin, thank you stubble-burn. 

“I can do it. Need to get out. Trust me.” Stiles sighed and clung a little harder to his arm, right hand unconsciously slipping into the thick tangle of Hale’s hair.

“I trust you.” A second later everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Bubbling Brew is my own creation, but pretty much every other place mentioned actually exists within Hogsmeade. JK Rowling is a genius goddess.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Seriously, I love you!


	9. Call the President if I’m Not Back in an Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to those who leave comments and kudos! It really means a LOT to know people are enjoying this, and I love hearing your thoughts on what's going on. You guys are awesome!

Every atom of Stiles’ body felt squeezed and pulled, like he was being siphoned through a tube about ten centimeters wide. The sensation was over almost as soon as it started, but it still left him a little queasy, fingers gripping onto Hale like a lifeline, which he technically was. 

“Did we make it?” He breathed out in exhale, a little afraid to open his eyes. There was no telling where Hale had apparated them to; for all he knew they were thousands of miles away, in some wolf den, surrounded by the bones of his enemies. Hale’s breathing settled and he began to pull away, making Stiles cling on a little tighter.

“Yeah. You okay?” He felt big, warm hands framing his face, and finally risked prying one eyelid open. At first all he could see were the most amazing eyes skating over his face, worry evident in the drawn shape of his eyebrows. Stiles’ fingers tightened in the tangle of his dark hair, wanting nothing more than to surge forward those last few centimeters and claim his mouth for his own. It’d be _so_ easy. 

Which is why Stiles deserved a damn medal for nodding, loosening his hold, and stepping back. He wanted Hale, and in his wildest dreams he imagined Hale might want him back, but right now was definitely not the time.

“Yeah, we’re all here, no splinching on this end,” he said, wiggling his fingers for emphasis. Hale nodded, swaying unsteadily for a second before taking a few shaky steps and sitting bodily on the old wooden chair next to the wall. A wall sporting deep gouges. Stiles spread his fingers and traced the sweeping motion down, as though he were dragging claws through the wood himself.

“Where’d you take us?” He asked quietly, observing the more distraught nature of the room. It looked like it could have been a kitchen once: a sink on the opposite wall, a decrepit table in the middle, even a few chipped dishes littered around. The candles around the walls flickered uneasily, most likely enchanted to light at the presence of a person, since he knows there’s no way either of them were in a mind to cast anything when they arrived.

“I’m surprised… you never made it here.” Hale rasped out, pulling Stiles’ attention back to him. His head was tilted back so it was against the wall, as though he didn’t have the energy to support it himself. There was a sheen of sweat coating his too pale face, dark circles under his eyes, and a tiredness about him, like he was waging war inside himself. Despite all this, he was still the most beautiful man Stiles had ever seen. Life was 100% unfair.

“I think I’d remember a place like- whoa,” he rushed over to catch Hale as he began slipping off to the side, eyes closed, breath gone shallow.

“Professor Hale? Professor? _Derek_!” The man’s eyes fluttered at the last word, and Stiles vaguely recalled one of his more new age professors going on about the power of names. He’d scoffed at the time, but now he wondered if there wasn’t some credence to the theory. “Derek, stay with me.” He coaxed, right hand on his waist, left slipping from his neck to cup his cheek, patting it lightly to encourage consciousness. The other man leaned into the touch, pressing his lips against his palm and inhaling deeply as his hands lightly rested on either side of Stile’s shoulders. Stiles couldn’t help but flex the fingers splayed over his hip, gripping a little tighter as he hovered over him, still unsure on what he should do, how he should react. 

“I need…” the words were murmured into the heel of his palm, “… I need you.” Stiles waited a few seconds for a continuation before prodding.

“Need me to do what? C’mon Profe-”

“Derek.”

“No, _you’re_ Derek, I’m Stiles. _Stiles_.” It was the look of complete exasperation just edged with fondness that made the knot in Stiles’ chest loosen a little; the first real sign that everything might be all right. 

“It’s better… when you’re closer,” Derek ( _Derek_!) managed through stuttered breaths. 

“I’m kinda… is this not close enough?” His hands were still on his cheek and hip, and even that little bit of contact was enough to stir his well of arousal. 

“I’m sorry… I shouldn’t, you don’t have to,” he sounded gutted, forcing the words out, hands falling from their perch on Stiles’ shoulders. 

“Wait, that’s not- I want to help,” Stiles eyed the chair, hoping it was strong enough to support another 147 pounds as he maneuvered his legs around so he was straddling the other man. The werewolf. He was straddling a werewolf. _Holy shit_.

“Stiles, you- I don’t want to make you-”

“Shut up and cuddle me.” Stiles slipped his right arm around Derek’s ribs, pulling them close together. “I’m not doing anything I don’t want to do.” Slowly he felt strong arms circle his waist, fingers gripping onto his shirt as Derek buried his face into the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply. Stiles bit his lip so hard he was amazed he didn’t draw blood, trying to distract himself from _the entire situation_ , praying to any deity that might listen that his professor was too focused on other things to notice the erection that was sure to be pressing into his stomach. Which, for the record, was as solid as a rock. And now it was taking all of his willpower to not give in and rub up against it. 

“Thank you,” Derek practically whispered, and Stiles nodded, absently running his fingers through sweat-dampened hair, and when did his hand migrate up there? Are any of his body parts under his conscious control right now?

“Hey, no problem, any time,” annnnd it looked like his mouth had joined the mutiny. Or at the very least his brain-to-mouth filter. If his mouth was really acting of its own accord it’d be attached to the sinfully bared neck right in front of him. And it was not. As far as he was concerned, Stiles was a goddamn saint.

After a few minutes of just breathing, he could feel Derek’s heartbeat even out, tense muscles relaxing as he no longer had to fight to keep control. 

“Better?” Stiles ventured, rubbing small circles into his back. He realized this was the most intimate he’d ever been with anyone. He’d never felt Danny or Scott’s heart beat next to his own, been consciously aware of how many breaths they were taking, how deep they were. Derek nodded, pulling his face away so he could look Stiles in the eye. Stiles himself took a steadying breath before pushing on with the conversation, still sitting precariously on his professor’s lap.

“So, _ahrm_ , where are we?” Derek sighed and glanced away, eyes fixed on something over Stiles’ left shoulder.

“The Shrieking Shack.” 

“Holy sh- are you serious?” Stiles craned back, trying to take in more of the room without unseating himself. Even before he’d gone to Hogwarts he’d heard rumors about the Shrieking Shack; that it was haunted by the tormented soul of the headmaster who had been killed there, that not even the resident ghosts would breach its walls, that children who ventured into the Forbidden Forest were taken there to be tortured. He couldn’t help the chill that ran through him.

“It’s an old werewolf hangout, I knew I’d be safe here,” he took a deep breath, closing his eyes, “there should be some dried pleine lune upstairs, it might help- work whatever this is out of my system.”

“Do you want me- should I?” Stiles heart picked up at the thought of going up those dark steps alone, childhood fears creeping back into his brain after years of determinedly telling himself it was silly to be scared. 

“No, I will, you can’t sniff it out.” That somehow brought him out of a state of fear and right into annoyance.

“Well, yeah, maybe not, but I can, you know, _look_ for it, with my eyes and hands. They’ve worked pretty well for me so far. And besides, you don’t seem quite ready to be doing sprints anywhere.” Derek rolled his eyes, but nodded.

“Do you have your wand?” Stiles cheeks immediately went pink as he thought of the cheesy pick-up line, and indeed that was _not_ a wand in Stiles’ pocket.

“Uh, no, but I can tell you exactly where it is in my room…?”

“Just take mine, _lumos_ ,” Derek said as the tip of his wand emitted an increasing glow, then held it in front of Stiles. He wet his lips before wrapping his fingers around the unique piece of wood, his pinky brushing over the other man’s knuckles. The wand seemed to vibrate a little in his grip, like it was unsure, nervous even, but then Derek placed a warm hand over his, and everything stilled. The amount of trust going on here was absolutely staggering, making Stiles’ throat go dry.

“Up the stairs, and to the right. First door. There should be some… somewhere,” Derek spoke slowly and deliberately, like he was losing his energy again. Stiles nodded hurriedly and, on impulse, wrapped his arms around the broad shoulders in front of him, burying his face in Derek’s neck.

“You’re going to be okay,” it was a question and a statement wrapped in one, and the only response he got was a pair of arms against his back, holding him as tight as he dared. He nodded again and pulled back, Derek’s arms falling to his sides with the motion. “I’ll be right back,” he whispered before sliding off the other man’s lap and making his way out of the room. 

The house was eerily quiet, and Stiles was suddenly extremely happy to have a wand in his hand, unfamiliar though it was. The enchanted candlesticks were weaker here, flickering in and out as he passed by, casting unnerving shadows against the walls. His stomach clenched as he saw the scratches leading up the stairs, as though someone had dragged their claws through the stone in an attempt to intimidate, or possibly even stop a forced ascent. Either way, the sight sent a shiver through him.

“C’mon Stiles,” he scolded, and loped up the stairs, leaving behind any chances of second thoughts. His heart raced with a mixture of fear, excitement, and exertion as he skidded to a stop at the top of the staircase, leading to a dark hallway. Stiles held the wand in front of him, both for protection and illumination, as there were no candles to help light the path. His heart thudded harshly against his ribs as he eased his way down hall. It seemed as though he’d left all his bravado on the stairs, and was now running off of pure adrenaline and need. 

First door. He peered into the room, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw it was empty. Not that he really _thought_ there would be anything in there, but his imagination had a way of running off and conjuring up the worst scenarios. 

“If I were a flower…” Stiles pondered as he began working his way around the mostly empty room. A bedroom, to be precise. And besides the torn sheets and the layer of dust coating everything, it didn’t seem too bad. No bloodstains, at least. 

Moonlight filtered through the gaps in the boards covering the windows as Stiles gathered up his courage and peeked under the bed. Nothing. He glanced between the closet and the chest of drawers, debating which should be rummaged through first. The closet held more potential for fear, so he figured it’d be better to just get it out of the way. 

“Come on, come to da-” the word caught in his throat as he pulled the door open to reveal his father, lying bloodied and beaten on the floor, eyes open and unseeing.

“No,” he whispered, hands shaking as the wand fell from his lax fingers. There was no way… “NO!” He screamed this time, falling to his knees, not knowing what to do, where to start. There was so much blood, but, maybe, he might not be dead, he might-

“ _Stiles_?” The panicked voice barely registered in his brain as he crawled forward, needing to find a pulse. A sign. Anything.

“ _STILES_!” The voice was louder now, and there was a hand on his arm, pulling him back, away from his dad.

“Let me go! He needs me!” He clawed at the strong arms that were holding him securely, pressing him into an overly warm body.

“Stiles! It’s not him. Whoever you think it is, it’s not real.”

“It’s my dad,” he couldn’t help the sob that was wrenched out as he continued to fight the vice-like grip on his body.

“Oh fucking hell,” Stiles looked up in time to see the shift in features, Derek’s canines lengthening as his eyes glowed an electric blue.

“ _Get out_ ,” he growled, staring straight ahead, into the closet. Stiles wanted to turn, wanted to yell, wanted to punch Derek so he’d let him go, wanted to bury his face in his chest and never look up again. “You’re not welcome here.”

“ _You don’t control me, wolf_ ,” said a voice that was very much _not_ his father’s. Stiles finally stopped struggling and did his best to turn, to see who or what was talking, but Derek’s hold stayed firm.

“Well you don’t _scare_ me, in fact, I might just have to have a laugh at your expense.”

“ _… you wouldn’t_.”

“I’ve been told I have a very dry sense of humor.” It was silent for a moment before Stiles heard a rustling, like wind blowing through a curtain, and then Derek let out a breath and released his hold, falling weakly onto the floor. Stiles couldn’t help but look back into the closet, surprised to find it completely empty, not even a trace of blood on the floor, and no sign that his father had ever been in there. 

“Fucking boggarts…” he breathed, running a shaky hand over his face before turning back to Derek, who was lying in a heap on the floor next to the bed. “Shit, Derek, hang on,” his hands immediately went to his face, urging him to open his eyes. “Derek, Derek, come on man, come on.”

“Third… drawer,” he wheezed out, and Stiles scrambled over him to get to the dresser and haul the third drawer out, revealing several handfuls of dried flowers. He scooped up as many as he could carry without crushing them and brought them to Derek.

“Okay, now what? C’mon, we’re almost there.”

“Need… to burn… inhale-” his eyes rolled to the back of his skull, head lolling into the ground as he passed out cold.

“No, nonononono NO, just, fucking NO,” Stiles cursed as his fingers scrabbled for Derek’s wand.

“ _Incendio_ ,” he had enough wits about him to speak the word carefully, knowing that panic and spellcasting only ever ends in pain and damages, and he certainly didn’t need to worry about the house burning down around him. A small flame flickered out of the tip, igniting the petals placed next to Derek’s face. He wafted the smoke so that the tendrils curled up and around his chin, gliding past his nose. There was no reaction. 

“Fucking SHIT,” what was he supposed to do, set the petals on fire in the man’s mouth? How was he supposed to – he looked from the smoldering flowers to Derek and back again.

“Please don’t kill me for this,” he murmured as he lit another batch and put his mouth over it, inhaling as much warm smoke as he could. Then, without missing a beat, he took Derek’s face in his hands, pressed their lips together, and exhaled, releasing the smoke into him the only way he knew how. There was literally nothing romantic about it, no heat besides the smoke being passed between them, but Stiles’ mouth still tingled at the pressure. 

He leaned back, trying to see if there was any difference. A twitch of an eyelid, a minute curling of his finger, and then, a cough. Small and pathetic, but a cough, meaning air was getting somewhere, meaning – 

_Again_ , he thought before repeating the actions, lighting the petals, sucking in the smoke, and sealing their mouths together, hands on either side of his face, cradling his jaw. He exhaled slowly, imagining the smoke moving between them, curling its way down into his body, healing him like only it could… or so he assumed. Stiles swore he would pick up a Herbology course on the side if this would just _work_. 

“Derek, come back,” he whispered against his lips, foreheads pressed together. His thumbs absentmindedly stroked the other man’s cheekbones, tears stinging the back of his eyes as he refused to let them fall. Derek was going to be _fine_. He couldn’t _not_ be. There was a jolt and a sharp intake of air, and before Stiles could move away there was a hand on the back of his head, holding him still and allowing Derek to lean up those few centimeters and capture his mouth with his own. It was as though all the impulses and wants from that evening (and the whole month, let’s be honest) had finally broken through the dam, rushing out of Stiles in a way that made him hungry and desperate as he pushed into the kiss, slipping his fingers through the surprisingly soft black hair in an effort to hold on. It was both chaste and thrilling at the same time, something he’d never thought he’d get in a million years, for a million reasons. He fought the urge to just lie right on top of the man, wanting to get as close as possible, but reasoned that Derek probably needed a bit more recovery time before moving onto more physically exerting activities. 

As he pondered what he could do to both keep the momentum going and let the other man recuperate, the hand slid down from his hair to rest between his shoulder blades as Derek’s head fell back with a sigh, eyes still closed, lips parted just slightly. If Stiles didn’t know better he’d think he was asleep or something… oh shit.

“Professor Hale?” He spoke the name hesitantly; afraid of possibly confirming what he hoped didn’t happen. He sat up straighter, leaning back on his heels and letting the hand on his back fall limply to the ground. Not a great sign.

“Derek?” 

“Hrm.” 

“Derek, you with me?” And now there was blinking, accompanied by a furrowed brow that made Stiles’ stomach plunge. 

“Stiles?” The questioning tone was like a knife to the gut. Derek had no idea what he’d just done, or who he’d done it with. For all Stiles knew it was a reaction to the flower-smoke, or the… whatever leaving his body. 

“Are you okay?” Derek breathed out, pushing himself up on his elbows so he was propped up against the bed. Despite his unease, Stiles smiled ruefully at the comment.

“Seriously? You’re pulled from the brink of death, and you’re asking me if _I’m_ okay?” Derek gave him a very pointed look, causing the younger man to roll his eyes. “Yes, I’m fine. No reason I wouldn’t be.”

“The boggart-” 

“-was an unfortunate event, one that I should have handled better. Seriously, boggarts are so third year.” He paused, looking from his knees to the closet and back again, before tacking on, “But thanks, you know, for, uh, taking care of it. I know that couldn’t have been good for you.”

“It’s fine.”

“It almost wasn’t,” Stiles pointed out, realizing the extra exertion on the man’s body was likely what sped up the spread of whatever he’d been poisoned with. Had Stiles been able to keep his cool, Derek wouldn’t have passed out, would have been able to handle the flower-smoke himself, and Stiles would never have known what their mouths felt like pressed together. So, ultimately, he had no one to blame but himself. And whoever or whatever poisoned Derek in the first place. Speaking of…

“So, now that you’re a bit more clearheaded, any ideas on what the _hell_ happened to you?” Derek shrugged, eyes focused on the small mound of ash on the floor.

“My best guess is something I ate. Some herbs react differently on wolves. I’m normally pretty careful about what I’m eating, but I guess I was a little distracted tonight,” his eyes flicked over to Stiles, still in his fancy garb, now rumbled and creased with a sooty handprint on his thigh. Lydia was going to _kill_ him.

“Maybe…” Stiles took a deep breath, “maybe Harris slipped you something.”

“What?”

“I mean, he’s the potions master! He must have access to all kinds of weird shit.”

“No, I would’ve noticed something like that.”

“Not while you were out of the room.” Derek looked up sharply, causing Stiles to bite his tongue. “I’m just saying, when, _if_ you left, he could have easily put something in your food.” Derek shook his head.

“It was gone when I came back.”

“A drink, then. Did he buy you a drink?” The scowl was all the answer Stiles needed. “Okay, so, it _is_ possible that Harris is behind all this.”

“I don’t – why? Why would he, what’s the reasoning behind it?” Now it was Stiles’ turn to cock an eyebrow at the other man.

“Really? You can’t think of a reason someone would spike someone else’s drink with something that makes them go all cuddly on the first person they see?” Derek grimaced and looked away.

“Harris was not trying to date rape me.” 

“But it-”

“ _Stiles_!” His voice was harsh, making Stiles clamp his mouth shut. “Just drop it.” Then, softer this time, “I’ll figure it out, okay?” Stiles pressed his lips together, squashing the instinct to keep arguing, and nodded.

“Besides,” Derek said as he slowly rose to his feet, “it wouldn’t have worked.”

“What wouldn’t have?”

“I didn’t just cling to the first person I saw. If Harris had come to me while I was in that state, it wouldn’t have ended well for him.” Stiles’ eyebrows climbed higher, silently urging the other man to continue. “I would have been more likely to attack than accept any help from him.”

“Right, _help_.”

“Stiles…”

“Sorry. Dropping it,” he swooped down to pick up the wand still on the floor, handing it over to its owner. The wood seemed to emit its own warmth into his palm before Derek retrieved it, sliding it into his back pocket.

“Ready to go back?”

“Yeah, Danny’s probably wondering where I am.” Stiles couldn’t help but notice the small glower the name-drop seemed to put on his professor’s face. Either he somehow remembered Stiles was supposed to be rooming with Scott, and was reasoning out the room-change, or he knew _exactly_ why people hopped rooms, and was apprehensive about Stiles being with Danny. And if Stiles was honest with himself, he was betting on the latter. “I told him I was going to the vending machines like, two hours ago.” 

“I’m sure he waited for you.” The blood rushed to Stiles’ face so fast he thought he might black out. How was this conversation even happening? The man was a _chaperone_ , he should be actively against whatever’s going on behind locked doors, not quietly condoning it and reassuring a student that he could still get some.

“Oh god, it’s nothing like that. We’re just rooming together.” Derek cocked a disbelieving eyebrow. “I’m _serious_. There’s nothing going on between me and Danny. Anymore.” He couldn’t help but tack on that last bit, watching Derek’s face carefully for any signs of… jealousy? Maybe? There was a small twitch at the corner of his mouth, but beyond that his stoic demeanor remained. The silence stretched between them, uncomfortable for the first time in a long time, like they each wanted to say something, but didn’t know how to say it. Finally, Stiles blurted out the question that had been on his tongue since Derek brought up the possibility. Things were awkward anyway, it seemed as good a time as any.

“Why didn’t you attack me?”

“What?”

“When I saw you in the hallway. You said you would have attacked Harris. So, why didn’t you attack me?” 

“It’s… complicated.”

“I’m sure I can keep up.” Derek rolled his eyes, crossing his arms defensively across his chest. Stiles mimicked his motions, ready to wait him out. After a few moments of looking intensely at the wall, Derek spoke.

“Wolves thrive in packs. We’re stronger, faster, better in every way when we’re together.” Stiles nodded, having been aware of these facts for a while now. “What a lot of people don’t know is that packs aren’t just made up of wolves. Historically, the strongest packs have always had humans in key roles. My family, we –,” he paused and shook his head, “When the poison started to affect me, my instincts reached out for the pack to make me stronger.” He finally turned to look at Stiles, “You’re pack.” Stiles was sure he was the epitome of attractive as his mouth hung open, eyes wide and unblinking. He was _pack_. Derek Hale considered him _pack_. This almost made up for the forgotten kiss. Almost. 

“That’s…” he took a breath and met Derek’s eyes, “not so complicated.”

“I didn’t mean to drag you into this.”

“Honestly, dude? I’m just glad someone was there to help your wolfy ass. It can’t be easy being a lone wolf.”

“Omega.”

“Whatever. Point is, I’d rather be a part of this than not, you get me? Consider me signed up.” Derek looked at him hard, like he was evaluating him with all of his senses, before nodding, the barest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You still have to refer to me as Professor Hale at school.” 

“No problem. Professor Hale and Mr. Stilinski by day, Derek and Stiles by night. We’re like super heroes with alter egos. This is awesome.” 

“You’re ridiculous.” Derek stepped forward and placed his hands on Stiles’ shoulders. “Ready?”

“Yeah, just,” he lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Derek’s ribcage. The man stepped back in surprise, but Stiles just moved with him, half-tempted to just climb him like a tree and reclaim his kiss. But then he felt strong arms on his back, and heard a sharp _crack_ before the feelings of being apparated overtook him.

____________________________

Stiles slid into the darkened room, leaving Derek in the hallway. The man had insisted on walking him to his room, and it made sense, what with being a chaperone and a student out past curfew. But still, Stiles couldn’t shake the feeling that it was really Derek who should have someone walking him to his room. Maybe overprotective pack bonds went both ways. Which reminded him…

“I’m pack,” he whispered into the darkness, the only other sound was Danny’s rhythmic breathing coming from the bed on the opposite wall. He crawled onto the bed, brain still thrumming with energy as his body sunk into the surprisingly soft mattress. 

_Pack_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:
> 
> \- Boggarts take on the form of what scares you the most. They’re hurt/killed by laughter. 
> 
> I'll be in San Diego next week for SDCC, and then it's back to work, so it might be awhile before another update happens. But I PROMISE I have no plans to abandon. I'll finish this thing come hell or high water!


	10. He Will Conquer the World With His Ungodly Charisma Points

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD, I can't even apologize for how long that hiatus was. My only excuse is that I moved, started a new job, and have been expected to be social about 80% more than last year. But I still plan on finishing this bad boy, so if you can stick with me, then wow, I owe you!
> 
> Many thanks to BFive0 for kicking me into gear and helping me break through my writer's block. And a million thanks to everyone who commented and kudosed, they are all appreciated and kept me opening up that file, even if I didn't get as much done on it as I would have liked.
> 
> Also if the ending's weird I'd like to blame this godawful headcold I'm sporting and my desperation to get a new chapter up before 2014.
> 
> But yay! Writer's block is gone! Huzzahs all around!

Derek didn’t go right to his room. All his senses were thrown, and there would be no resting easy until he was sure he, Stiles, and every other person in this inn was safe. He resolved to prowl each level; nose in the air to sniff out any potential threats. About halfway through the second floor he realized this was a horrible idea, as all he was getting were whiffs of sex and arousal. Damn teenagers. 

“You’re taking this job way too seriously.” Derek nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden voice, and seriously, how did this keep happening? Harris sidled up to him, still in the sports jacket and jeans he wore at dinner, despite it being past midnight. Derek gave him a hard look, trying to determine how he kept getting the drop on him. Even with a silencer spell he still should have been able to pick up on a scent, or even just sense that there was someone creeping behind him. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” he answered brusquely as he turned away, Stiles’ accusations towards the professor still fresh in his mind. He didn’t want to believe that Adrian Harris was out to get him, in any capacity, but… 

“Oh, well, you could have stopped by my room,” Derek’s head snapped back so fast he would have suffered whiplash if he were human. “I always carry some sleeping draughts with me on school trips. They’re simple to brew up and tend to come in handy.” That… that made sense. Derek’s heartbeat slowed down a bit, though his shoulders remained rigid.

“It’s fine,” he started forward again, “I’m just going to finish checking the halls. You should go back,” he hoped fervently that Harris would just heed his words; allow him to finish his rounds in peace. After a tense moment the other teacher nodded, taking a couple steps back before turning and walking down the hallway. Derek breathed a sigh of relief as he continued his patrolling. 

All was as it should be, quiet interspersed with door-muffled giggles and breathy gasps. He let out a low growl at a student sneaking back to his room, causing him to yelp and break into a run. He suppressed his grin, finishing up the fourth floor and making his way up to the final level. He was ninety percent sure there would be nothing to find up here, but he’d come this far, might as well be thorough. 

He was about half-way through the hall when he heard panicked shouts coming from room 523. He broke into a run, ready to knock the door down if he had to when it was flung open, a dark-haired girl running smack into his chest, bouncing off the hard muscle before he could grab her shoulders to steady her.  
“Are you-” he started before he looked into the room, finding what he’d assumed had sent her into a panic. Another girl lay half on the bed, twitching like she was under the Cruciatus Curse, blonde hair splayed across her face, discerning her features. Derek could scent her pain from where he stood. The sight made his stomach clench, wondering if she had been hit by the same culprit that had sought to take him out earlier that evening.

“I don’t know what happened! We were just talking, and one second she was _fine_ and laughing and then-” the brunette sobbed, reeking of fear, but no guilt, so Derek squeezed her shoulder before sweeping into the room. The blonde convulsed, right leg kicking out and hitting the nightstand with a painful _thwak_ before Derek gathered her into his arms and laid her level on the bed, gently brushing the blonde curls out of her face, still contorted with pain. He took in a deep breath, scenting the girl and finding no outside cause, curse or potion or otherwise, for this reaction. Whatever was happening to her was natural. He wasn’t sure which was worse.

“Find Madame Rosmerta, have her send up the village healer. I’ll stay with her,” Derek spoke to the roommate without taking his eyes off the girl in front of him. 

“Is- is she curs-”

“She’s not cursed, but she needs help. Go, now!”

He heard her stifle a sob before running out of the room. Derek kept one hand on the girl’s shoulder, fingers brushing the bare skin of her neck, as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wand. With a few sharp flicks he sent a message to Hardcastle, letting her know the situation. She’d be better at handling this kind of thing, he was sure. Hell, she probably knew the girl’s name and condition and a dozen spells on how to help her, where all he could do was cushion her head, make sure she didn’t hit anything, and bleed some of the pain away.

After a moment he felt a soft hand cover his, and was relieved to find the girls eyes were no longer vacant, but looking inquisitively up at him. 

“Professor Hale?” She rasped, fingers tightening over his, as though she were afraid he’d get up and leave now that he knew she was okay. Well he didn’t _know_ , but the scent of fear and pain had receded, so he deduced that the worst was over.

“Yeah, do you know where you are?” He asked, voice soft and comforting in a way he almost never used. After a few seconds she nodded, lower lip trembling a little as she sucked in a shaky breath.

“Three Broomsticks, on a 7th year trip… how did you get in here?” He suddenly realized how strange, and possibly, no, _definitely_ inappropriate this all looked without the right context.

“Your roommate let me in. She went to get Madame Rosmerta and a healer. Do you know what happened?” The girl nodded again, but made no attempt to bring him into the know, just stared at his face, fingers still wrapped around his. 

“How did you know?” She asked, eyes still searching his face for something. He quirked his mouth up and shrugged lightly.

“I didn’t. Just luck.” The corner of her eyes crinkled, trying to read something in his motions before giving up and resting her head back down against the pillow.

“Well, thanks anyway. I should be fine now, if you wanted to get back to your room. It’s late.” She took her hand back and tucked it under her head, facing away from him. He had caught the slight lilt in her voice, the barely noticeable hiccup in her heartbeat. No way was he leaving this girl completely alone. If nothing else he’d wait outside the door.

“I’ll go if you want, but I really don’t mind staying until they get here.” He glanced at the cheap clock on the wall, both hands hovering around the 2. The bed shook slightly as the blonde shrugged her shoulders. 

“You don’t even know me. I’m not one of your students.” Derek stood up and walked around the bed so he was facing her again, but kept a steady distance. 

“Doesn’t matter. You’re a Hogwarts student, and currently under my watch, and as my first time chaperoning I’d like to make sure all the students get back. Otherwise my record looks bad.” The girl smiled, face softening pleasantly. 

“I can see why half the school’s in love with you.” That made him pull back a little. “Sorry, probably not something a student should say to a teacher, but hey, it’s-” she stopped suddenly, squeezing her eyes shut as the scent of pain shot up, almost palpable as the girl gritted her teeth. Derek hovered, not sure what to do, before a new scent had him scrambling for a wastebasket, getting it to the side of the bed seconds before the girl leaned over and vomited, Derek’s precision saving the carpet a mild scrubbing. He was about to ask her if this was normal, if she needed anything, when the door flew open and Hardcastle, Madame Rosmerta, an elderly wizard he’d never seen before, and the timid roommate came filing in.

“Good work, Hale, I’ll take it from here,” Hardcastle said as she patted his arm while breezing past, going straight for the girl and perching on the side of the bed, pulling the long blonde tresses out of the line of vomit. Why didn’t he think of that? 

“Is she going to be okay?” He asked, taking a step back and almost knocking into the roommate as she came out of the bathroom carrying a glass of water. 

“Looks like it was a mild seizure,” the wizard said as he smoothly transitioned his _lumos_ ed wand from one eye to the other, light glinting off of her huge brown eyes. “With some rest and water she’ll be fine.”

“Mr. Higgins is one of the few practitioners in town who’s studied non-magic maladies,” Madame Rosmerta piped up from the other side of the bed, carrying an extra blanket and a bag of chocolates. “You can trust his diagnosis.” Derek nodded, managed to catch the girl’s eye and give her a deliberate nod before making his way out of the room and back down the hallway. He had only taken a few steps before he heard the door open and shut once more. He turned to find the brunette roommate standing uncertainly in the hall, teeth worrying at her bottom lip.

“Something else wrong?” He asked after a moment of heavy silence. The girl shook her head, but then looked up at him with earnest eyes.

“No, just, please don’t tell anyone. Erica doesn’t want people to think she’s weak, so if you could just, keep this to yourself, I know she’d appreciate it.” 

“For the record, that girl is the opposite of weak. And yes,” Derek sighed, “so long as it’s not in the way of her safety, I won’t tell anyone.” 

“Thank you Professor,” the girl breathed out before giving him a wan smile and slipping back into the room, leaving him once more alone in the hallway.

The trip back to his room was as uneventful as he could hope for, considering the evening he’d just had. The large clock at the base of the 2nd floor stairwell read twenty past two. Derek huffed a little as he passed it, knowing he was expected to be up in a matter of hours to usher the students to breakfast. He’d assumed the seven o’clock meal call was meant to be a punishment for the students who, quite literally, fucked around all night, but now it seemed like a personal vendetta against him. 

He slipped into the room, shutting and locking the door with his wand before grabbing his coat off the hook on the wardrobe and throwing it onto the bed. Gripping the hem of his shirt, he tugged up until it was covering his face, pulled his arms out of the sleeves, and flopped gracelessly onto the coat-covered mattress, cocooned in his own scent with a hint of Stiles mixed in from their earlier escapades. As his eyelids drooped he finally allowed his body to relax in the darkness, his mind wandering back to the Shrieking Shack, to Stiles settling on his lap and pulling him close, to the terrifying moment when his heartbeat had skyrocketed and Derek’s had responded in kind, pumping the poison through his veins as he vaulted up the stairs, to waking up with Stiles’ worried face hovering above him, heartbeat still too fast to be normal. He knew he probably owed his life to the boy, still unsure of what exactly he’d done to bring him back to consciousness, to get the pleine lune into his system in order to push to toxins out. And what toxins _were_ they, and how did they get into him in the first place? His head pounded with fatigue as he tried to force his mind to clear, taking deep breaths from his shirt, focusing on the phantom feel of Stiles’ arms around him. For the night, just tonight, he ignored the nagging part of his brain reminding him the boy was a 17 year old student, and clung to the idea of pack, of home and safety. He clutched the edge of his coat and willed himself into sleep.

____________________________

 

There was a sharp knock on his door, jarring him awake in the most undignified fashion imaginable, arms pushing him up in a defensive position as he snarled against the self-imposed darkness, forgetting for a moment where he was and what was covering his face. 

“Everything all right in there?” the voice, muffled by the door, brought him back to his senses enough to pull the shirt off his face. The room was still dark, the beginnings of the day just barely peeking through drawn shades, but his eyes adjusted quickly. Right. Chaperoning. 

“Fine,” he grunted back, scrubbing a hand through his disheveled hair, shaking the last semblances of sleep from his mind. 

“It’s 6:45, kids’ll be up soon,” Derek suppressed a groan as he listened to the retreating professor. Gilch had likely gotten a solid 8 hours of sleep and a light jog in before acting as his wake-up call. 

He stood up slowly and shot a glance at the bathroom, debating on whether or not it’d be worth it to jump in the shower. Another quick run through his unruly hair was the deciding factor, shucking his pants for a 3-minute wet-down. If nothing else the blast of cold water at the start helped to bring his mind into focus. 

By the time he made it down to the commons area there were already a handful of students milling around, no one looking particularly awake. Even the head girl seemed to be struggling to keep her yawning under wraps as she attempted to count heads as others slowly trickled into the dining area, lured by the promise of sizzling bacon and eggs. Gilch flitted from table to table, and Derek could see she absolutely lived for this day; the joy in her eyes as students radiated guilt, panic, and general annoyance with her chipper attitude. 

He managed to pick out a few familiar faces; Boyd, slumped low in a chair near the back, McCall, curled up with Argent, both supporting each other in an attempt to sit up, Otterpop balancing packets of sugar on Greenburg’s head while Whittemore rolled his eyes. Within a few minutes the head boy came bustling in, Stiles hot on his heels, pulling a hoodie over his head, causing him to run smack into the blonde girl Derek had met last night. His body jerked to respond, but both students were laughing, Stiles’ hand steadying on her shoulder, blush high on her cheeks. Derek scowled a little and turned away from the scene, willing his heart to calm down as he scanned the rest of the room. Harris and Hardcastle were sent to round up the rest of the students as the elves brought tray after tray of steaming breakfast foods out to the banquet tables. Derek was mildly impressed that the 7th years were able to restrain themselves from diving headfirst into the spread; apparently their manners were much better in public than in Hogwarts’ Great Hall. 

“All right my dears, bon apetite!” Madame Rosmerta called from the head of the table, keeping a watchful eye out for any horseplay. Even Derek felt himself straighten up a bit under her gaze.

He loaded his plate and found a table in the back, where he could easily keep an eye on three quarters of the room. The din slowly increased as the consuming of food helped to fully wake the students up, going from barely coherent mumbles to raucous laughter. A tingle at the back of his neck had Derek looking over to see Stiles making his way to the back of the room, but turning sharply as a shadow fell over the table. 

“Seat taken?” Harris asked, setting his plate down in lieu of a response. Derek shrugged noncommittally.

“All yours.” Harris smiled and began delicately cutting at the thick strips of bacon on his plate, making Derek feel like an animal (har har) as he’d just grabbed and ate them without a second thought. His eyes began to wonder the room again, lighting on Stiles and a few of his friends, sitting just a couple tables away. The students seemed to be in a mild debate about something, except for Stiles, who was leaned back, a focused look in his eye, as if he was trying to concentrate on-

“Derek? Are you listening?”

“Huh? What? Yeah. I mean- no, not really.” He figured honesty was best, as he had literally no idea what Harris had been going on about. The professor looked at him with drawn eyebrows.

“Rough night?” Derek brought a forkful of egg to his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he evaluated the seemingly innocent question. 

“Something like that. Not quite what I was expecting.”

“Did something happen? To you?” The tacked on question made Derek pause, eyes falling to the rapidly diminishing food on his plate. Stiles’ accusation was still floating around his brain, making him look deeper into the man’s words. 

“Actually, it might be a breach of confidentiality if I tell you. Let’s just say my rounds weren’t wasted last night.” Harris’ brow furrowed.

“You mean you found something lurking on the floors?”

“I really can’t say.”

“But, if something’s wrong, as a chaperone, I should know.” 

“I _can’t say_ ,” he enunciated sharply, standing up with his plate. But instead of leaving the room he walked back up to the food tables, reloading, knowing today was going to take all his energy. When he turned back around Harris was gone, only Derek’s half-filled juice glass remained at the table. He grabbed a new one.

____________________________

 

Within the next two hours the streets, shops, and alleyways were filled with children bustling to and fro, giddy with the feeling of freedom and consumerism. Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and Honeydukes both had lines out the door, and Derek realized there weren’t enough chaperones in the world to control this lot, even with the additional professors.

By noon he was utterly exhausted, his energy reserves drained as he slumped onto a bench just outside of Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop, admittedly the least populated area in the village. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes, allowing himself to relax. After a blissfully quiet moment he had to suppress a grin as he heard a familiar heartbeat amble up to him.

“You up all night or something?” Stiles asked as he flopped unceremoniously onto the bench, long legs splayed in front of him, knocking into Derek’s left knee.

“Something,” Derek muttered, prying open one eye to glare at the boy. 

“Well, word on the street is you’re a big damn hero.” At that Derek opened both his eyes, brows pulled down in confusion. After the short conversation in the hallway he figured no one would know about his 5th floor escapades.

“What are you-”

“And what’s funny is that it is _literally_ on the street. In big letters. _HALE IS MY HERO_.” He blocked out the words above his head, trying to give a visual, but Derek was still confused. “So, I know _I_ didn’t write it. Which begs the question, what else did you get up to last night, Professor?”

“I - nothing, I patrolled the floors and went to sleep.”

“Hmm, well, the street says otherwise…” Stiles mused, apparently enjoying this a little too much. 

“Where is it?”

“What?”

“The words! The street with the words!” 

“Just outside the Post. Hey wait-” Stiles shouted as Derek pushed himself off the bench. The youth scrambled to catch up to him. “Didn’t think you’d react this way. I figured it was just some late night heroics, you know, like you do.” Derek suddenly stopped, causing Stiles to bounce off of his back before he turned to face him.

“Are you jealous?” 

“What? No, no, I mean- no!”

“And you’re lying…” Derek could literally see the red creep up on his cheeks as Stiles sputtered indignantly. 

“No, it’s just, ugh, shut up!” He weaved around the professor, stalking toward the heavily populated areas of the village. Derek fought back a grin and went after him, determined to figure out exactly what had gotten him so worked up, but later. 

Within minutes Derek found himself staring at the large, glowing letters emblazoned before the Owl Post, Stiles flourishing his arms dramatically.

“See, what’d I tell you?” Now it was Derek’s turn to flush, looking around quickly to see if anyone was lingering around, admiring their handy work. It was then that something in the window of the post office caught his eye; the day’s front page of the Daily Prophet, with a very familiar figure standing front and center. He let out a sigh of relief and strode forward, tossing the paper man two knuts before grabbing a copy off the top of the pile.

“Wrong Hale,” he said, handing the newspaper to Stiles. The way the boy clutched at the edges he knew he was unlikely to get it back, and Laura would kill him if she found out he hadn’t kept a clipping of this major milestone, so he quickly purchased another and moved to the bench to read the story in full. 

“Oh wow, Derek,” Stiles looked up from his readings, eyes shining a bit, “things are _actually_ changing. This is, I mean, this is _awesome_.” Derek could only nod his agreement, throat choked up as he poured over the passages, rereading some lines three or four times, he just couldn’t believe they were real.

_Minister for Magic Padma Patil signs the controversial civil rights bill into law, as werewolf and half-human activist Laura Hale watches, her hard work becoming a part of history. The provisions of this civil rights act forbids discrimination in the workplace on the basis of species or race in hiring, promoting, and firing. Today marks the first civil rights bill under what has casually been referred to as “Werewolf Law” to become an official law. Laura Hale has commented that she is pleased, but this is only the beginning for her and her team in what she has referenced as “true equality for all”._

“So…” Stiles started after several moments of silence, both immersed in their own readings, “I’m guessing a local just wanted to express their appreciation to the badassery that is your sister.”

 

“Looks like.” His voice came out a little more choked than he’d like wanted.

 

“You gonna be okay?”

 

“Yeah, I just, I think I’m gonna go call Laura.”

“You should definitely go do that. And just so you know, I’m going to hug you really hard later.” Derek stifled a laugh as he carefully folded up his paper and headed to the hotel in a mild daze. The other chaperones could handle the rest of the afternoon, he was going to have an overdue chat with his sister.


	11. Imagine If You Can A Music Dear Readers, La Di Dah Di Dah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, I know _nothing_ about dance and am essentially a slave to wikipedia and youtube to help me not sound too ridiculous. So if you’re a dance master, please forgive me my ignorance.
> 
> Also so sorry, I meant to update this so much earlier, but life was out to get me. Literally the day I had slotted to finish this I woke up with a twinged neck and wasn't able to do anything but sit very uncomfortably and watch movies that make me cry. Good times. BUT HERE IT IS. Actually had to cut the last scene so I could get it updated, but that just means I know EXACTLY where I'm starting for the next chapter. Yay!
> 
> Thank you for reading! Ya'll are babes!

“Oh shit!” Scott shot into a sitting position from where he’d been previously lying on the couch in the nearly empty commons room. The commotion snapped Stiles from his near-nap, arthimancy book slipping through his fingers as he jolted forward.

“What the hell!” 

“Dude, the Yule Ball!” Stiles squinted, trying to gauge the cause of his friend’s panic as he leaned down to retrieve his book.

“Yeah, what about it?”

“It’s just a month away!”

“So, it’s not like you have to find a date,” he flipped the book open, eyes skimming the pages to find where he’d left off, but at this point it was all kind of a blur. Sighing, he glanced back up, “I’m sure Allison’s willing to go with you.” Scott rolled his eyes so hard his head fell back a little, brushing against the top of the couch.

“Not _that_ , you know, the tradition…” Stiles glanced around the room, looking for someone who might be able to help him out. The handful of Gryffindors occupying the study corner quickly averted their eyes from the situation. Thanks a bunch.

“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.” Scott gave him a look so incredulous he _had_ to have picked it up from Stiles. He’d be proud if it hadn’t been directed so squarely at him.

“Come on, remember last year?”

“No, man, I was out with the feather flu.”

“Oh, right… the year before, then?”

“Vanishing sickness.”

“Year before _that_?”

“Just _tell me_ ,” Stiles groused, not wanting to go through years of excuses as to why he’d never attended a Yule Ball. They were all perfectly valid reasons and had nothing to do with the fact that he couldn’t find a date.

“There’s a dance – a _special_ dance,” he clarified in quick retort to Stiles’ eyeroll, “it’s like, super traditional. Back when the Yule Ball was only for the Tri-Wizard Tournament the champions would perform it, but now the Quidditch captains are expected to.” Stiles didn’t even try to hide his snort as he leaned back into his over-stuffed chair.

“Thank you Dean for pulling Scott’s name out of a hat.”

“Dude, it’s not funny! I have to dance, in front of everyone! I can’t dance!”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, don’t they have a class or something for you? Since all the captains have to? They can’t expect you to just _know_.”

“Well, they were going to, but…” Scott trailed off, running a hand through his dark hair. Stiles sighed and closed his book, setting it down on the ground by his feet. 

“Scott, what’d you do?”

“I’m the only new captain this year, and when the ball and the dance were brought up at our last meeting, I kind of spaced out. To be fair it was dinnertime and I was woozy from hunger.”

“And you, what, accidentally said you knew all the steps already?”

“I was ready to sell my firstborn child to get out of that meeting.” Stiles nodded, understanding that feeling all too well. He currently had I.O.U.s on his first three children to various deities.

“Okay, so all we need to do is get someone to teach you, right? That should be easy enough.” Stiles stood up, kicking his book a little further under the chair. Studying could wait, this was clearly an emergency.

“Wait, _now_?” 

“Sure, I mean it’s like you said, you’ve only got til next month. Yule Ball’s just around the corner, and you definitely don’t want to mess up with everyone looking at you-”

“Shit-” Scott scrambled off the couch, legs flailing as they found purchase on the floor. 

 

____________________________

“What about the other captains?” Stiles asked as the pair headed down the nearly empty corridors. Eight o’clock on a Tuesday evening was not the happening time one might have thought it was. Scott wrinkled his nose at the suggestion.

“Isn’t that kind of like showing weakness?”

“Well it’s not like you’re getting quidditch tips from them, you just need someone to show you the moves for a dance that they’ve all done before.”

“Can you really see any of them helping me?” Stiles paused to think about it, the mental image of Jackson guiding Scott through varied dance moves making him bark out a laugh.

“Okay, not Jackson, but… what about Boyd?”

“I don’t know, Boyd’s so… Boyd. I don’t think he’d agree anyway.”

“Boyd won’t judge you... Boyd _probably_ won’t judge you. Out loud. And I bet he has a gentle touch, despite his _grrr_.” Stiles did an exaggerated flex-pose, bunching his fists in front of him as he hunched over. Scott pushed his shoulders, making him laugh as he corrected his balance and followed his friend down the hall. 

“Well, there’s always-”

“NOT Kira.”

“Oh c’mon, it’s been, what, four years? Three at least, I’m sure you two can handle a little touching,” Stiles emphasized this by sliding his hands over Scott’s shoulders, fingers dancing along his collarbone. Scott groaned and rolled his neck to meet Stiles’ eyes, shooting him an exasperated look.

“Not everyone’s like you and Danny. Kira and I, I just don’t know if we’ll ever get to the point where we can be ‘just friends’.” Stiles didn’t miss the sadness in his friend’s eyes, the want for exactly that, a friendship with someone he used to be close with. He patted the strong set of shoulders, giving a mini-massage as they stood quietly for a moment.

“Okay man, we’ll find someone, no worries.”

They continued to walk aimlessly, letting inspiration and the inevitable lead them on their mini-journey. Stiles used to think there was no such thing as fate, until Scott admitted that up until he was eleven he had been told repeatedly by his dad that there was no such thing as magic, despite all the unexplainable things that would happen around him. After that, Stiles decided to not discount anything; the possibilities in life were too big to think he had any grasp on what it all meant. And honestly, in this moment, he was just enjoying the bro-time. Ribbing back and forth like they used to before the stress of school and relationships got in the way. Eventually he did look up to take stock of where they’d ended up, and he honestly wasn’t surprised.

 

Years of Quidditch Cup champions stretched before them, robes fluttering around as the players scrambled about within the frames, arms around teammates, grins a mile wide. Stiles looked fondly at the most recent addition; Dean’s arms wrapped tight around both his and Scott’s shoulders as Olivia climbed their captain’s back, cup hoisted high above her head, Danny and Jacinda laughing just behind them, ready to catch their teammate as she teetered precariously on top of Dean, and Elle, literally back-flipping across the whole scene in a now infinite loop. Stiles had a tendency to stop and stare a moment whenever he found himself in this part of the castle, never bothering to hide the grin that would spread across his face. 

The only team photo he’d stared at longer was about twenty portraits away, and featured a couple caught in a passionate kiss. His mother and father, one of the best beater teams Hufflepuff had ever seen, holding onto each other as though no one else was around, now forever immortalized on the wall of champions. 

But at this particular moment it was the fourth picture down that caught his eye. He’d often sent fleeting glances towards it as he made his way class. Now, with no one but Scott around, he really looked. Drank in the ridiculously beautiful face, made even more so by the rare, exuberant smile beaming back. Stiles remembered that year, remembered cheering for Slytherin in the finals against Ravenclaw, watching Hale like a hawk through enchanted binoculars that were literally trained to the seeker’s every move. This was slightly before, or perhaps the cause of, the burgeoning crush twelve-year-old Stiles developed on the boy he’d assumed would always be out of reach. As the players in the portrait jostled around, high fiving and hugging each other, Stiles caught sight of the “C” emblazoned on the green and silver robes flapping in the commotion.

“Hey,” the back of his hand hit Scott square in the chest, “I think I know someone who can help you.”

 

____________________________

Derek opened the door to his office with an unamused look on his face.

“You know you’re the _only_ professor who stays this late?” Stiles gave off what he assumed was his most winning smile as Derek’s glare flitted between him and Scott’s puppy eyes before groaning and backing away from the door, a clear indication of reluctant acceptance.

“What could you possibly need this late on a Tuesday?” he asked as he made his way back to his desk. Stiles couldn’t help the smirk, knowing full well the man was putting up more of a fuss than he actually felt, trying to keep up his reputation as being severe and easily nettled. Which really just made their purpose all the sweeter.

“Dance lessons,” Derek stumbled a bit, whipping his head back around to stare at the two boys.

“What.”

“For Scotty here,” Stiles flung an arm around the other boy’s shoulders, patting him comfortingly on the chest as he felt his best friend’s whole body stiffen under Derek’s glare. 

“What makes you think I know how to dance?” The shade of pink that tinged the tips of the werewolf’s ears was possibly the cutest thing Stiles had ever seen and totally negated the harsh look he was still throwing them.

“It’s the Yule Ball dance, all the captains have to do it, which means _you_ must have had to do it, so you can show _Scott_ how to do it. I mean, assuming you remember it. What’s that old saying? ‘A werewolf never forgets’?”

“Pretty sure that’s elephants.” But the blush had spread to his cheeks now, and it was all Stiles could do to keep from leaping over the corner of the desk and smushing his cheeks together. It was absolutely criminal for such a dangerous predator to be _that_ adorable.

“Please Professor?” It might have been a little early to break out their secret weapon, but Stiles has pretty much never seen anyone turn down Scott’s pout. Kid’s got it down to a science; brown eyes wide and sad, lip jut out a touch, just _barely_ wobbling. It’s literally like watching a sunbeam get taken over by clouds. Completely heartbreaking. Derek huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Fine. Follow me.” Scott and Stiles high-fived front and back, garnering another eyeroll from the professor as he waited for them to move away from the door so he could stalk through it, the boys following like well trained puppies, which is to say tripping over themselves and sharing excited grins and arm slaps until Derek threw another glare over his shoulder. Scott immediately straightened up, not wanting to ruin his chance to avoid making a fool of himself in front of everyone, while Stiles glared right back.

“You can stop pretending to be so put upon,” he muttered under his breath, low enough that Scott, now walking a few paces ahead, couldn’t hear, but Derek clearly caught if his fractional pause was anything to go by. Stiles had a feeling the werewolf had been thrown off by Scott’s presence, reverting back to his growly nature as a defense mechanism. It had been awhile since he’d seen him this tense. “Scott’s a good guy.”

“What?” 

“What?” 

“Did you say my name?”

“What? No, I was just, you know, muttering, about stuff… and... things,” he heard Derek huff out a dry laugh, and was glad to see the rigid hold of his shoulders had loosened. 

“Come on, I’m not letting you break curfew for this,” he called out ahead of them, hand on the knob of a door Stiles had never really noticed before. Scott jerked his head toward the professor, eyebrows raised in the silent question of _you ready?_ Stiles nodded and quickly followed, curious to see where Hale had taken them.

 

____________________________

“How long has _this_ been here?” Stiles asked as he moved slowly around the edge of the nearly empty room. He hesitated to call it a dance studio, but essentially that’s what it was. Wide open space, debris-free floor, the only furniture tucked neatly in the corner as though someone had swept the whole place just moments before they barged in. The only thing it was missing was the wall of mirrors.

“Wait… is this...?” Stiles whipped his head around to watch as Scott poked at the furniture corner, unearthing an ancient-looking phonograph.

“Room of Requirement.” Derek answered, small grin playing on his lips as he watched Scott look around in awe. It was another one of those legendary places they’d heard about from generations of stories, but had somehow never come across, or perhaps, if they did, hadn’t properly realized what they’d stumbled upon. Suddenly Stiles was hit with the urge to take a closer look at some of his and Scott’s more narrow escapes, but was brought back to reality by the scraping of table legs against the floor. He followed the noise to find Scott and Derek putting together a little spectator area, and hurried over to help, though there was very little to be done, mostly because there were only three chairs and two desks available. Scott set the phonograph on one as Stiles hoisted himself onto the other, using one of the chairs as a foot rest as he settled in for the show. 

“Well, let’s get started,” Derek shrugged out of his jacket, folding it neatly over the top of a chair before walking toward the middle of the room, Scott following behind just a few paces. There was no hesitation in his movements as he went right up to the werewolf and slid his arms around his shoulders, bringing their chests almost flush together. 

“What are you doing?” Derek asked in an amazingly level voice, face stoic as ever despite the absolutely ridiculous situation he’d found himself in. Stiles had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud. 

“Uh, dancing?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. Hands go here,” Stiles chewed on his lower lip as he watched Derek physically adjust Scott into the correct pose, pulling back out of his near choke hold and moving the boy’s right hand to his stupidly muscular shoulder just before his left slid down to Scott’s waist, tugging his hips in a little closer and suddenly this didn’t seem like the great idea it was a half hour ago. 

“It starts with a simple waltz,” Derek explained, taking Scott’s left hand into his right and kicking his feet shoulder-width apart. He glanced over to Stiles, motioning to the phonograph using only his eyes, body held rigidly, waiting for the music to begin. Stiles scrambled off the desk, carefully lowering the needle onto the spinning disc. Beautiful music filled the room, amplified by the enchanted horn so it sounded like it was coming from all around them. 

“Make sure you feel the tempo, that’s going to be your pacing,” the professor nodded his head with the beat, Scott mimicking him after a moment. “Now count, ‘one two three, one two three…” he continued until Scott joined him, still bobbing his head a little.

“Okay, now we add in the feet,” at this Scott looked genuinely panicked, “I promise not to kill you if you step on me. Just keep that rhythm in your head and follow my lead.” Stiles surveyed the scene with low level jealousy as Derek literally walked Scott through the steps, his voice a calm and steady guide. It was almost painful to watch; Scott’s legs noodling around, unsure of his footing, and everytime he looked down Derek would tap the underside of his chin, bringing his eyes back up. Stiles knew, he _knew_ that there was nothing to worry about; Scott had once conceded that yes, objectively, Derek Hale was attractive in an facial-symmetry kind of way, but beyond that he’d never even glanced twice at the poster Stiles had tacked above his bed in their 5th year. Still, watching the two of them in the midst of something so intimate made a heavy knot form in his stomach. 

It took about twenty minutes for Scott to get the hang of the box step, before he could get all the way through a measure without stepping on Derek’s toes. During that time Stiles had done pretty much whatever he could to keep his mind of off what was happening right in front of him. Seriously, why did he think it was a good idea to put two stupidly good-looking people together in an activity that, if the movies are to be believed, is often the spark to a passionate romance? He was in the middle of reciting the twenty-eight ingredients needed for Minkerfoils when Scott’s anguished sigh brought him back.

“This isn’t working! I can’t follow here when I have to lead out there!”

“I dunno man, Allison seems like the kind who’d like to take charge on the dance floor, shouldn’t be a problem.”

“No, he’s right,” Derek nodded, dropping Scott’s hand and stepping away, “all the captains have to lead. He’s got to mimic me, not follow me.”

“Well, what if you and _Stiles_ danced?” Scott glanced over to Stiles, lips pressed tight together as he fought an obvious grin, eyebrows reaching up to his hairline. “That would give me a chance to see the moves I need to do.” The look Derek threw at Stiles seemed almost hesitant, like he regretted agreeing to any of this in the first place. Stiles’ heart stuttered in his chest as the silence dragged on, waiting for the professor’s response. It was silly, really, Stiles knew Derek liked him on some level, two weeks ago he’d called him _pack_ , and yet he still felt his hands go clammy on the notion that he might say no, might not want Stiles anywhere near him. His heart resumed its normal pace as Derek nodded, then kicked back up to double-time as he reached his hand out, crooking his fingers in a way that was more “get over here” than “come hither”, but Stiles saw what he wanted to see. He slid down from his perch on the desk and did his best to saunter over to Derek, tossing a wink at Scott, who was still beaming at him from across the room. 

“My body is ready,” he announced, hoping the bravado covered the slight waver of his voice, the pounding of his heart as he stood in front of the the literal man of his dreams for the better part of three years. 

“We’ll see about that…”

____________________________

“Stand up straight,” Derek murmured, pulling broad shoulders back and out of the hunch he was too accustomed to seeing Stiles settle into. The kid was at least an inch taller than he pretended to be. “No slouching on the dance floor.”

“I don’t think my back is supposed to bend that wa-HEEEY,” he cried out as Derek pushed his palm into the middle of his back while still keeping a firm grip on his shoulders, resulting in a satisfying series of POPs as the boy’s vertebrae went back into place.

“Oh my god, _oh my god_ , that feels amazing. Oh _wow_!” 

“I could do more if you were on the floor,” Derek regretted the words the instant they were out of his mouth, could feel the flush rising up to his face as Stiles’ shoulders went tense under his hand. His ears picked up Scott’s whispered, _I’m sure you could_ , making him wince internally. “But, let’s just get to the dance, alright?”

“Ye-yeah, yeah, let’s do that. I’m ready. Scott, you ready? Cause I am ready.” 

“Totally ready!” Scott called out from the other side of the room, grin brazenly plastered on his face. Derek kept him in the corner of his eye as he took Stiles’ hands into his own. He marvelled for a second at how different they felt from Scott’s, how much better, if he’s being honest with himself, natural even, to be in his own grip. True to his word, Scott mimicked Derek’s pose to a T, allowing him to put his focus back on Stiles. 

“Were you at least paying attention, or do I have to take this to square one?” His eyebrows pulled down, then lifted in response to the boy’s smirk.

“I’ve done the box step before, my Nana made me practice with her. Said I had the grace of a yeti.”

“Good to know,” Derek tamped down his grin as he splayed his hand under Stiles’ ribs, both hearing and feeling the sharp intake of breath. “Relax, and move with me,” Derek murmured, taking the first simple steps of the dance. To his surprise Stiles followed fairly well, only stepping on his toes once as he misjudged a step forward. Derek glanced over to see Scott dutifully following along, looking awkward as he held his arms stiffly in front of him in lieu of a partner. 

“Think he’ll be able to get it?” He asked, nodding his head toward the other boy. Stiles followed his movements and smiled, fondness practically emanating from his eyes.

“I think Scott will surprise you with his tenacity. There’s not much I’ve seen him _not_ be able to do.”

“That was a double negative.”

“Yeah, well,” he turned his beaming face back to Derek, “It wouldn't be inaccurate to assume that I couldn't exactly not say that it is or isn't almost partially incorrect that Scott hadn’t never failed at something he tried.” Derek actually stopped moving at this, his brain whirring around the string of words thrown at him, frowning as he tried to suss out what was actually said.

“Don’t hurt yourself now.” 

“Shut up and dance,” without warning Derek took him into the next steps, a triple step-hop-slide that had the lead pulling ahead a few paces, resulting in them basically pulling their partner along for the ride. Stiles squawked as he fumbled to keep up, limbs getting twisted in the shuffle, and ending up flat against Derek’s chest, cheeks splotched with red.

“Dude, unfair advantage.”

“I figured with that quick wit of yours you’d be able to keep up.”

“Oh I can keep up, I can go all nigh-”  
“A-HRRM,” they both turned at the pointed sounds coming from across the room, to see Scott had given up all semblances of following along, slight blush on his own cheeks and a grin a mile long. 

“Uh, not to interrupt, but it’s ten til curfew, we should probably get back to our room.”

“Right, right,” Stiles practically flung himself backwards, the warmth quickly dissipating from Derek’s chest in his absence, “meet again tomorrow?” Derek took a moment to consider the situation, the remaining steps and the amount of work Scott was going to need, before nodding resolutely.

“You’re beyond where you should be on your thesis; we can swap out with dance lessons for a few weeks.”

“Thanks Professor Hale! We _really_ appreciate it!” Scott called out as Stiles pushed him toward the door, throwing back a quick wave before disappearing into the darkened hallway. Derek had simply nodded in return, running a hand through his hair as he walked over to retrieve his coat. He wondered off handedly if it had been any other student, would he have said yes? He hadn’t even asked why they came to him, why there wasn’t a designated dance instructor for the event, which he knew there was. He knew that, and he still gave in, because… because… 

“Aw hell,” he grumbled, grabbing up his coat and heading out the door. He needed to go for a run.  
____________________________

 

“Oh my _god_ , Stiles!”

“Shh sh sh shhhhh,” his arms flailed wildly as he looked back at the door, wondering how sound traveled through magical space and if Derek had caught any of that. _Room_ , he mouthed before taking off in a run, dodging a trio of ghosts, Scott at his heels only to overtake him at the last stretch, sliding into the room just as the first chimes signifying curfew started. Stiles latched the door behind him before getting tackled by Scott.

“Holy _shit_ dude, Derek Hale _wants_ you!”

“You need to _shut up_ , do you want him to get fired?”

“Oh shit, are you guys _doing it_? I mean, I know it’s not strictly legal, but is it even _safe_? He’s a werewolf, what if he-” Stiles laid a palm flat across his friend’s mouth, halting the flow of words.

“First, no, we are not _doing it_. And even if we were, which we’re not, there’s no reason a werewolf and a human can’t have an intimate relationship. A perfectly normal, extremely sexy, intimate relationship.” He removed his hand and walked toward his bed, leaving Scott by the door.

“...but you want to.”

“Fuck yes I want to! But it’s not going to happen, because Derek Hale is-” he flailed his arms above his head, feeling his t-shirt ride up on his stomach.

“- a whisp of air?” Stiles dropped his arms and stared at Scott incredulously.

“Like, _way_ above me.”

“Dude, literally the only reason he hasn’t carried you off to his werewolf den is probably because he’s your _professor_.”

“Yeah, there’s that…” Stiles trailed off and fell onto his bed, bouncing once and staring at the ceiling like it might have some answers for him. Scott flopped next to him, head hitting his solar plexus, effectively knocking all the air out of him in one fell “ _Ooof_!”

“Do you really like him?”

“...Yeah.”

“More than when he was a pro Quidditch player?”

“Way more,” Stiles grinned as he felt Scott’s head tip up in an effort to look at him, but he kept his eyes trained on the ceiling, exactly where Derek’s Quidditch poster would have been 2 years ago in their old dorm room. It had been no secret he’d lusted hard over the pride of the Wigtown Wanderers, often commenting on his arms, the clench of his thighs, the way his eyes sparkled in the sunlight (“He’s wearing goggles Stiles, you can’t even see his eyes!” “I KNOW WHAT I KNOW”). And the fact was, as much as he thought he’d liked Derek _Fucking_ Hale then, it had been all lust. Now? Now he knew things, things he’d never find in a magazine, and it made his heart flutter in a way he wasn’t quite used to, not even when he was chasing after Lydia or dating Danny.

A wolf howled in the distance, and Stiles couldn’t help the shiver that ran through him at the sound of it.

“Fuck, you’ve got it bad,” Scott half groaned, half laughed as he was pushed off of the bed.  
____________________________

Morning came a little too quickly for Derek’s needs, his muscles still aching from the over-exertion he’d put them through the night before; shifting and running until the trees were a blur and all he could feel was the rhythmic pounding of his paws hitting the packed earth of the forest. It was refreshing to let the wolf take over, succumb to the raw power itching just beneath his skin, but often left him completely drained come the next day.

He managed to pull it together enough to run his first class effectively, guiding the level 4 students through some protective counter-curses and allowing ample Patronus practice. He was pleased with his students’ progress on that subject, enjoyed watching the evolution from wisp to amorphous blob. He was surprised, however, to find Isaac Lahey struggling to get even a string of white smoke to appear, much less the almost solid form he’d produced a week ago.

“Mr. Lahey,” he saw a look of panic cross the boy’s features, made sure his tone was soft as he continued, “would you mind hanging back for a few moments after class? There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.” Ears tinged pink, the young man nodded, looking at his wand as though it had betrayed him. Derek placed a warm hand on his shoulder, “Just relax, it’ll come back to you.” He felt some of the tension release, muscles loosening just slightly under his touch. 

As the other students packed up Isaac lingered at his table, ears still burning with embarrassment or shame, or maybe both. In truth Isaac’s emotions were all over the place; it was almost impossible to get any kind of read on him.

“Mr. Lahey-”

“Could you- could you not call me that? That was, everyone called _him_ that, and I’d really rather not be-” Isaac cut himself off, glaring at the ground as his eyes swam in unshed tears. Derek nodded, waiting quietly for a moment before taking another step closer.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He heard the boy’s heartbeat quicken at the suggestion, wouldn’t have been surprised if he told him ‘no’ and left without another word. It was a reaction Derek knew all too well. In truth he was a little shocked when he pursed his lips and nodded, lifting his shiny eyes to meet Derek’s.

“You know what happened, right? With the-” he paused, almost as though he was expecting Derek to interrupt him, tell him what he knew of the story from gossip and articles, but Derek was a pro at waiting, and instead just settled into the seat across from him. Isaac took a deep breath and continued.

“It’s been three years since they put him in Azkaban, since Cam died. Three years to the day.” His fingers gripped at the edge of the table, a slight tremor in the muscles as he squeezed the unyielding wood. “I can still hear him, in my head, telling me I’m not good enough, that it should have been me, not Cam, that Mom left because she couldn’t stand to hear me whine.

“Most of the time I can push it away, drown it out, but now,” he ran a hand through his hair, gripping the tresses at his temple, “it’s all I hear.” Neither spoke for the next minute, Derek nodding slightly as Isaac’s breathing evened out, heartbeat returning to normal.

“What’s your favorite place in the castle?”

“What?” Isaac looked at him with bewildered eyes, “Were you even listening?”

“Yes, now, what’s your favorite place in the castle?”

“Uhhh, the, the owlery,” Derek raised an eyebrow as the boy flushed a little, “I like the birds.”

“Okay, I want you to go to the owlery for the rest of the school day. Relax, clear your mind, find the thing inside of you that roots you here.”

“To Hogwarts?”

“To _life_ , to whoever you are. Find it, and hang onto it. And if you’re feeling better, meet me at my office at 5:30 There’s something I could use your help with.”

“Okay… I’m gonna do that,” he said, gathering his things and stuffing them into his robe pockets. “I’m gonna- you’re sure it’s okay?”

“Promise. I’ll talk to the other professors, tell them you’re having a sick day. Don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks, Professor,” Isaac gave a small smile, blue eyes overly wide on his face, and Derek’s heart went out to him.  
____________________________

The clock in the North Tower was chiming it’s 6th toll as Scott and Stiles piled breathlessly into the makeshift dance studio. Everything was the same as before, as though the room hadn’t magically vanished in the night and reappeared as they needed it. The only difference was the mop of curls with whom Derek was currently conversing in the middle of the room. 

“Dude, what’s Isaac doing here?” Scott whispered, causing Stiles to lean forward and squint a little to confirm that it was indeed Isaac who was currently chatting up his professor. 

“I have no idea,” Stiles said, trying hard not to give the boy the stink eye. He thought he was getting better at the whole irrational jealousy thing, but apparently no. A part of him still wanted to keep Derek all to himself. 

“I thought it might help Scott to have a dancing partner, so I asked Isaac if he wouldn’t mind filling today.” Derek answered, and Scott winced a little, either for getting caught whispering or the notion that he’d have to dance with Isaac, which was weird, Stiles had always assumed Scott liked Isaac, he certainly didn’t have a problem when he and Boyd had joined their lunch table.

“Or I could just go…” Isaac started, clearly having seen the look on Scott’s face.

“No! No, it’s fine, it’s all good, that’s great, actually, it was weird holding my arms up to nothing.” Scott assured, a huge smile plastered onto his face. Stiles did his best to school his expression into something normal, not wanting to betray his best friend by calling him out on his weird behavior. The reaction seemed to settle Isaac, in any case, which in turn settled Scott. 

“Okay, so, Scott and Isaac, you’ll follow Stiles’ and my actions. I’ll let you know when it’s time to go into the next move.” Stiles' heartbeat picked up as the man started his strut toward him. He’d thought, for a second, that maybe Derek had pulled Isaac so he could dance with him, leaving Scott with Stiles to guide around. By all means it would have made sense, probably more sense than Scott paired with Isaac, and Stiles with Derek. 

“Would you rather-” Derek started, hands up in an aborted move to take Stiles into his arms. He flicked his eyes over to Scott, already settling his hand on Isaac’s waist. Stiles shook his head.

“Nah, I mean, I’m all used to you now, it’d be weird to change to Scott,” he was pretty proud of the way he kept his cool, flimsy excuse that it was, and moved forward to close the gap between them, one hand on a wonderfully muscular shoulder, the other wiggling in the air, waiting to be held.

“Okay then,” Derek murmured, slipping his left palm into Stiles’ right, hand at the waist tugging him just a bit closer, before addressing the small group. 

“We start with the box step for 4 measures, then go into the triple-step for four, then start over. We’ll do that until no one’s stepping on each other.”  
____________________________

Derek was vaguely surprised when no one managed to seriously mangle anyone else. Scott seemed to do a lot better with a partner, leading Isaac through the moves with far more fluidity and grace than he had shown the day before. Isaac himself followed exceptionally well; Derek had given him a crash course in what they’d accomplished the day before in the twenty-five minutes they had before Scott and Stiles had shown up.

He takes them through the next two moves, easing them into the more difficult steps.

“Not so much difficult as… involved.” He explained before leading Stiles through a series of turns and hand movements. Stiles, to his credit, kept up fairly well, following Derek’s lead impeccably. A little _too_ impeccably. 

“Did you study this?”

“Why, are you impressed?”

“Either you studied, or I’m the best dancing lead there’s ever been.”

“Okay, I might have found an instructional manual during break this morning. And used Occlumency to go through it. And Arithmancy to practice it.” Derek groaned. He couldn’t wait to hear the complaints about “that dancing kid” being thrown around the teacher’s lounge, now that he’d started frequenting it about twice a week at the urgings of Hardcastle, after their brief bonding period on the Hogsmeade outing. 

“Don’t dance in your other classes,” he chided, but then smirked and glanced just behind him, “and yes, I’m impressed.”

____________________________

“Why do _you_ still know this so well?” Stiles asked as he came out of the turn, palm against Derek’s, just barely touching as they walked in a circle, eyes trained on the other. “It’s been five years since you had to dance it.”

“My uncle; he was the TriWizard champion for Durmstrang years ago,” they traded palms, reversing their rotation, “He decided the summer after his victory he was going to teach all his nieces and nephews how to dance, so when they became champions it would be effortless.” He smiled a little ruefully at the memory, “he was right, Prof. Flannery ended up making me teach the other captains while she took a nap.” Stiles' brain immediately went to five years ago, just mildly jealous of the dance partners that had come before him. He turned and went back into his first position, hand on Derek’s shoulder, fingers itching to wrap around his neck, tangle in the dark hairs. His fingers slid slowly along the back of his shoulder, tips just grazing the white fabric of his undershirt, inching toward the collar. 

“Stiles…” the word came out breathy, less of a warning and more of a stilted exclamation. He knew his face was probably splotched red, mouth hanging open like a dog’s, but he didn’t care. He wanted this so badly, and Derek wasn’t fighting him. The tip of his index finger brushed slowly over the warm skin of his neck, he was so close-

“Aw shit, what set comes after the partner heel turn?” Stiles jerked back, probably would have stumbled half-way across the room if Derek hadn’t had such a firm grip on him. He’d _completely_ forgotten about the other two people in the room. He looked up at Derek with panicked eyes, heart thumping in his chest, but was met with a look of calm, edged with a hint of sad, possibly regret. _Fuck_.

“The backwards guide,” Derek answered, eyes still locked on Stiles, skating around his face before finally letting go and turning to face Scott and Isaac. “Then you take it into a full over-under spin. Try once more, then we’re done for the night.” Stiles shoved his hands roughly into his pockets, unwilling to admit how cold and empty they felt as he and Derek stood about five feet apart, watching the dance before them. Derek stared resolutely forward, and Stiles could practically feel the distance emanating between them. As Scott and Isaac slowed he pulled out his wand and halted the phonograph’s rotation.

“Okay, that’s it for this week. If you want to meet again on Monday let me know.” And with that he was walking over and gathering his coat. Scott threw worried brows at Stiles, who nodded incrementally, trying to assure that everything was okay, but Scott knew him way too well. He tossed his head toward the door, and thankfully both boys took the hint, throwing hasty thanks at the professor before making a quick exit. The silence echoed throughout the room, making Stiles curl his fingers into fists with anxiety. 

“You should go with them,” Derek finally said without turning around. And hell no, they were not taking a hundred steps back just because Stiles got a little eager. He took a step forward.

“Listen, about earlier-”

“Stiles-”

“It won’t happen again, I promise.” There was a sigh.

“Maybe we shouldn’t-”

“I _promise_ , I’m _sorry_ , just, don’t shut me out, okay?” The ensuing silence had Stiles shifting restlessly, but he refused to move until there was some kind of acknowledgment from the werewolf. He didn’t know how long he stood before Derek finally turned around to look at him.

“You don’t have to be sorry.”

“I- what?”

“It’s not just you. And I won’t shut you out, but, Stiles, we both have to be more careful.”

“I will. I will be _so_ careful.” His heart pounded, and he was sure by the end of the year he was going to be hospitalized with some kind of erratic condition thanks to all the palpitations Derek gave him. “Now when you say, ‘it’s not just you-’”

“Good night, Mr. Stilinski.” Even though it was a clear dismissal with lines drawn, Stiles couldn’t help but smile as he ambled toward the door.

“Catch you later, Professor Hale.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wanted to involve Kira and give a nod to the blossoming relationship between her and Scott, but am pretty set on Scott/Allison for this AU, so she’s an old flame. She actually holds no animosity towards Scott or Allison, but she and Scott just haven't found their way back to friends yet.


	12. The Cafeteria is a Crazed Sea of Almost-Vacationing Students

The most annoying part of the week was how many joke-invites to the Yule Ball Stiles was getting. He was pretty sure his mini dance-sessions in Arithmancy were to blame; people overly excited to poke fun at his erratic moves. There were giggling girls blocking his way in the halls, a seventh year Slytherin looking him up and down, asking him if he wanted to practice his dance moves on him, and the enchanted tap shoes left outside his dormitory door that knocked rhythmically against the wood until Scott yelled at him and he brought them in and stuffed them in a padded box.

He and Scott had just started eating lunch when a paper crane smacked him on the cheek.

“Aw, whatthefuck,” he slapped the origamied bird to the table, lest it attack anyone else. 

“Dude, I think it’s a note,” Scott nudged at the torn wing, a bit of writing peeking through the other side. Upon further inspection, it looked like he was right. 

“‘ _Smooth moves, hot stuff. Wanna be my date to the Yule Ball?_ ’ Really? That’s the third one this week.” He crumpled the paper and tossed it over his shoulder, surprised to find Scott gaping at him, jaw dropped and eyes bugging out. “What?”

“That was an invitation!”

“That? No, man, that was a joke, cause-”

“Dude, _that was an invitation!_ I can’t believe you just tossed it.” He craned his neck around, “Who’s it from?” 

“Not signed. See, if it were _real_ , it would have been _signed_. Trust me on this.” Scott rolled his eyes and slumped forward, resting his chin on his crossed arms, but within a few seconds was smacking Stiles’ bicep with the back of his hand, staring across the dining hall. Stiles followed his gaze to see a dark-haired girl - a harder look proved it to be Janet Wasser, 6th year Hufflepuff - holding a paper crane in the palm of her hand, blowing on it gently to give it some semblance of flight. Both boys watched as it hobbled through the air on its way to their table, pointed beak pecking at Stiles’ forehead twice before he grabbed it and flipped it open.

 ** _Fuck my ass_**.

“Thanks for the support, Jan!” He tossed a thumbs up toward the girl, face scrunched in a sarcastic grin. She waved back, licking her lips lasciviously.

“What’d it say?” Scott made a grab for the mutilated bird, but Stiles shoved it deep in his robe pocket.

“Definitely _not_ an invitation to the Yule Ball. C’mon, I gotta walk all the way to the East Tower for Occlumency.” He gathered up his things, nearly tripping over his own feet to get away as another bird started floating toward him. Scott reached for it, but Stiles grabbed his arm and tugged him along.

“Hey, _I_ don’t have Occlumency! My class is on the other side of the castle! STILES LET GO!”

____________________________

 

The next day wasn’t any better. 

Stiles peeked around the double doors, robes pulled over his head like a cloak. Sitting at his usual table were three girls and two guys that he barely recognized, routinely bickering and shooting open glances around the hall. Isaac, Boyd and Scott looked at each other with raised eyebrows as they reluctantly shared their space with the interlopers. 

“Hell to the no,” Stiles mumbled as he slunk his way around the Great Hall, keeping close to the wall and executing some pretty flawless spin moves to avoid being seen. He silently applauded his superior creeping skills when he spotted an open seat, just far enough away from his table to not be noticed, but with a direct view if one knew where to look. He picked his way over, stalling a little as he realized someone else was taking advantage of the line of vision. Blonde curls pulled back in a no-fuss ponytail, head propped on her left hand as her right made lazy circles with her wand, but yeah, she was definitely focused. He snuck up behind her, tilting his head to the same degree, and found himself staring at the Hufflepuff quidditch captain. A smile played on his lips as he leaned forward just a bit.

“You gonna ask him?” She startled, sending her wand skittering across the table. 

“Shit, do _not_ sneak up on me like that! And… no, he’s already going with someone.”

“What? Who?”

“Monica.” Stiles wrinkled his nose as he sat down next to her. 

“Didn’t they break up? Like, months ago?”

“Yeah, but apparently she’d made him promise they’d do the Yule Ball together no matter what.” She absently reached for her wand and started flicking it again, “I think she just wants an excuse to do that stupid dance.” They sat in quiet for a moment, watching the table across the Hall.

“But you _would_ have asked him?” At this she finally put her wand down and turned her body so she was facing him head on. 

“What’s it to you? What are you even _doing_ over here?” Her glare was sharp and accusatory, eyes narrowed as though she could see right through him. He put his hands up to the sides of his chest in surrender.

“I’m just trying to get a read on things. This Yule Ball is making people crazy.” She snorted and turned away again.

“Well at least it’s the last one.” The words came out with a bitter edge, almost like she resented that this would be the last time they were put through this kind of agony. He suddenly wanted to ask her so many questions; how long has she liked Boyd, how many dances has she been to, why doesn’t she ask someone else, does she even _want_ to go, or did she just want to hang out with Boyd? But what came out instead was -

“Wanna go with me?”

She responded with a raised eyebrow and a look of utter confusion. But hey, at least it wasn’t disgust.

“Is this a joke? Do you even know my _name_?”

“Wha- why would it be a joke? C’mon Erica, we were practically inseparable third year. I never would have passed Divination if it weren’t for you.” She rolled her eyes, turning back to the view of the other table.

“Which is pretty much the last time you talked to me.” Stiles wanted to argue that, even had his mouth open to spew some contradictions, but nothing came out. She was essentially right. He’d never meant to stop being friends with the Ravenclaw, but come fourth year he’d made the quidditch team and started getting serious about his Auror track, which hadn’t left a lot of time for other pursuits. 

“I ran into you at Hogsmeade!” He finally sputtered, recalling the time he’d been too busy following Danny and pulling a shirt over his head to pay attention to where he’d been going, causing him to smack into the blonde. 

“Yeah, literally,” but she didn’t sound angry, in fact there was actually a smile on her light pink lips, “guess we were both a little distracted.”

“But hey, it brought us closer together! Whaddya say? Yule Ball?” The smile disappeared from her face as she fixed him with a hard look.

“Why? Why _me_? You can have your pick of anyone-” he snorted attractively, which only received him a smack upside the head and a glare, “I’m not kidding. Why do you think those idiots are at your table?”

“Cause they get great joy out of mocking me?”

“Because they desperately want to get into your pants.” His eyes went wide as he glanced back over to the table, but didn’t miss the way Erica slumped into her seat a little. “So now that you know, I’m sure you’d like to go rifle through your options.” She leaned in on her arm again, a clear dismissal, which he was having none of.

“I think I’ll wait and see if my first choice says yes or no, then weed through the runner-ups if I have to.” Erica raised an eyebrow at him. “ _You_ , I wasn’t asking you out of desperation; I think we could have a lot of fun together.” She pursed her lips and twirled a loose curl around her finger. Stiles was surprised to find his heart rabbiting in his chest as she mulled over her answer. 

“You know I don’t like you like that anymore, right?” The _anymore_ threw him for a loop, but he nodded, trying to hide his shock that she’d ever liked him to begin with. “And there is less than zero chance of sleeping with me.”

“Kind of exactly what I’m looking for… don’t ask,” he responded quickly to her quirked up eyebrow.

“Oh I’m going to ask, but… sure.” He punched the air as she continued, “But I swear to god, Stilinski, if this is a joke or a prank or some fucking bet-”

“Not a joke, nothing like that, I promise! I just have to do a thing, be right back,” he clapped her shoulders with both hands before vaulting over the table and striding toward his usual seat.

“She said yes!” He shouted louder than strictly necessary, wanting the news to spread. “Scotty, she said yes,” he slid next to his best friend, knocking their shoulders together as the apparent Yule Ball hopefuls looked up in dismay.

“Who? Oh, uh, _she_ did?” Thankfully Scott caught on fast, “Congrats man, I knew you were nervous about asking her~?” The lilt in his voice on the last word was all the hint Stiles needed.

“Yep, Erica Reyes has agreed to let me be her arm-candy for the Yule Ball. Oh, hey guys,” he theatrically looked up at the table-intruders, “you all find dates yet?”

The grumbles that followed were music to Stiles’ ears. 

____________________________

 

“So… Erica?” Boyd asked the next morning as they made their way out of DADA, pulling Stiles away from watching Derek lean over his desk to retrieve a cage.

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” He fumbled his books a little as he straightened up and followed the larger boy out the door. It was another few steps before Boyd spoke again.

“You like her?” 

“Yeah, of course.” He couldn’t help the grin as he watched the massive shoulders slump at his words. “But as a _friend_. She’s just doing me a solid to get those stalkers off my back.” Boyd stopped to give Stiles an assessing glare.

“And she doesn’t like you?”

“Nah, pretty sure she’s hung up on this other guy… but he already has a date to the Yule Ball, even though they broke up forever ago… so I figured, going together would be mutually beneficial for both of us.” He looked down at his bare wrist, “shit, I gotta run. Good talk, Boyd.” He clapped a hand on Boyd’s shoulder before rushing into the throng of students making their way through the halls. He snuck a look behind him to see Boyd still standing there, people swerving fluidly by him like currents around a boulder. 

“Phase one, complete,” he declared under his breath, pulling a clenched fist to his chest in a mini-victory pump. He debated on telling Erica, but figured it’d be more fun to watch her shocked face when he pushed those two idiots together at the dance. And people called him unromantic. Okay, Danny called him unromantic when he got him a two pound bag of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Bean for their six month anniversary, but he’d picked out all the really gross ones, and if that’s not romance, then Stiles doesn’t know what is.

____________________________

The Great Hall bustled with lunchtime activity as Stiles walked in, letting out a sigh of relief to see his table was once again occupied solely by his friends. Even Lydia and Allison were there, bent over their transfiguration book, assumedly prepping for the Animagus registration exam. 

“Guys, stop that, it’s not for two more months!” Stiles scolded, making to close the book before being swatted away by Lydia, “You’re making me and Jackson look bad!”

“Don’t lump me in with you. I just spent my last study period drilling with Danny.”

“And that’s a visual I didn’t need in my head,” Stiles sat with a _fwump_ , cloak billowing out before settling around him again, and failed to dodge the roll Jackson threw at him. It glanced off the side of his temple, rolling on the floor until it was kicked up by a sharp-pointed boot. The entire table watched as Erica inspected the dusty bread before throwing it back at Jackson, who caught it, eyes wide in surprise.

"Don't waste food," she said simply before setting her bag down on the table and settling in next to Stiles. He couldn't help but panic the tiniest bit until he saw her flash a quick and sincere smile at Boyd before lowering her eyelashes; flirting at its finest. 

"So," Isaac started, "who's going to help me through this Muggles Studies paper?" Scott and Erica spoke up at the same time, grinning goofily at each other before pouncing on the 6th year's parchment. Stiles took a bite out of his roasted chicken, melting a little at how delicious it was, before noticing Derek meandering around the other side of the room. It was like a magnetic pull, how much he suddenly felt he needed to be there, next to him, for no other reason but to be _near_ him. 

_Maybe that's the pack bonds_ , he thought, reminding himself to ask Derek about it later, so long as he could figure out a way to frame it that didn't make him seem like a desperate tag-along. He kept an eye on him, thrilling a little when Derek noticed him, smiling warmly before turning back to the person he'd been conversing with.

"Ahhh, I think I get it now," he jumped a little at Erica's words, low though they were, not realizing she'd stopped helping Isaac and started paying entirely too close attention to what Stiles was doing. She bumped her knee against his, red lips pulled into a dangerous smile.

"It's nothing, just a little- nothing." He said, fighting the urge to pull his cloak over his head to hide his warming cheeks. 

"It's fine. _Totally_ understandable. Did I tell you about the time I woke up and he was hovering over me?" Stiles could hear the blood rushing around his ears as he stared at the girl next to him, stomach plummeting to the depths of his soles. Her eyes crinkled as she laughed, pointing a teasing finger at him, "Oh man, Stilinski, you're so _obvious_!" He glared as she muffled her laugh behind a hand, completely ignoring the few glances her outburst had garnered. 

"It was during Hogsmeade. I'd had an... well it's called an epileptic episode. When it started Kira and I were talking on the bed, and when it was over... Hottie McHale was sitting next to me, stroking my hair," Stiles' glare intensified, making Erica roll her eyes, "Okay fine, he was holding my shoulder, but still, probably more action than anyone else has gotten with him." He knew it was bait, he _knew_ it, but he still couldn't help the smug look that crossed his face. Erica positively lit up.

"You little shit! Tell me _everything_." Her voice was hushed, and there was more than enough activity to cover anything they said, but Stiles still shot a worried look over at Derek. The werewolf was still in a seemingly deep discussion with Professor Gilch, so Stiles grabbed Erica's hand and pulled her from the Hall, ignoring the stares in their wake.

"You know what this looks like, right?"

"Yup." Stiles walked with purpose, would have taken off in a run if he weren't trying to convince people he was a confident jock about to make out with the hot Ravenclaw he'd snagged as a date to the Yule Ball. Erica, for her part, kept up with him, grinning lasciviously and winking at passerbys as they made their way through the corridors.

"You owe me so much explanation," she whispered, leaning into him and clutching his hand in a way that any outsider would take as overtly sexual, but he knew was actually a literal threat, her sharp nails digging into the meat of his palm just this side of painful. 

Finally they made it to the room of requirement, the only place Stiles knew they wouldn't be bothered, especially with Scott, Isaac, and Derek fully occupied. 

"What is this place?" Erica asked, dropping his hand and looking around the large but barren room. 

"A place to talk." Stiles said, pulling out one of the two chairs provided, flipping it around so he was straddling it backwards. Erica took the other and settled in, crossing one leg over the other and giving him an expectant look. 

"Before I go into anything, I need to know what you _think_ is going on." Erica raised an eyebrow. "Humor me."

"Well..." her crimson nails danced across her lips, eyes focused just behind Stiles, making him itch to turn and see what she was looking at, but he resisted, forearms resting on the back of the chair, looking steadily forward. "From what I've seen in the very limited time I've been paying attention to you, yeah, you're into Professor Hale. But I mean, who isn't, right? He's gorgeous and unattainable." She throws a sharp look at Stiles at that. "He _is_ unattainable, right?"

"You think I've tapped that?"

"Would you tell me if you did?"

"I- if I- I mean, it's _illegal_. He's my professor, and I'm seventeen, and-"

"You're avoiding the question. Would you tell me if you'd slept with him?" Stiles swallowed hard, looking down at the rungs of the chair.

"No."

"But you want to." Stiles rolled his eyes, refusing to answer the question. Erica smiled a little softer now, relaxing her rigid pose. "Okay, so, tell me, what _have_ you done with our dear Professor Hale that makes you superior to anyone else?” 

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"C'mon Stilinski, I'm your date, you think I'd betray you?" He fixed her with a look, making her smile a little ruefully. "Fair enough, okay, I'll give you a truth for a truth, does that work?"

"You first." She shrugged and flipped her hair behind her shoulder.

"I had the biggest crush on you 2nd through 4th year. I even wrote to my parents and told them you were my boyfriend. Your turn." Stiles is a little dumbfounded at this, but she quickly waves a hand, urging him on.

"Uwahhh, okay, um, Der- Professor Hale-"

"No no no, back up, you call him _Derek_? Shit, this is serious. Okay, continue."

" _Professor Hale_ is helping me out with my thesis, which centers around werewolves and other half-humans, and the laws that are keeping them from experiencing true equality."

"And the sex happens after?"

"There's NO sex! We just- I don't know, we spent a lot of time together, and it turns out he's lonely out here, away from his family, so he kind of, um, made me part of his pack. Which let me help him out of a really bad situation where he was poisoned and almost died. So, there's that." He slumps a little into his chair before adding, "It involved some lap sitting and hugging."

"Stiles you dog."

"Seriously, you can't tell _anyone_ , not even _Scott_ knows."

"I won't, I promise, but still, that's some major bragging rights."

"Yeah, but, I don't want him to get in trouble. You know?"

"I get it, and I agree. Like I said, he helped me through a tough time, and I wasn't kidding when I said pretty much everyone's a little in love with him. I think even Harris has a thing for him; I see him watching him go down the hallway, sometimes even going out of his way to follow him." This caught Stiles’ attention.

"Wait, really? When? What does he do?"

"Possessive much?" Stiles mimicked her _go on_ hand motion, making her roll her eyes, but continue, "I don't know, just, a few times after class I’ve seen him practically chase after him, or watch him go down the hall. Eyes probably on his ass - it _is_ a good one - but I can't tell. Maybe he's just overly interested in werewolves." She shrugged, leaning back into the chair. Before Stiles could open his mouth the tower bells chimed, signaling the start of the next hour.

"Oh shit, speak of the devil, I gotta get to potions," he jumped out of the chair and ran to the door, pausing at the knob, "Hey, uh, if anyone asks, we-"

"- were making out. You're not a _bad_ kisser, but there's room for improvement. Luckily I'm here to show you some moves." Stiles rolled his eyes but let out a relieved breath, smiling and nodding before breaking out into a run to make it down to the dungeons in time.

____________________________

“You’re late, Mr. Stilinski.”

“By like, thirty seconds-”

“Twenty points from Griffyndor; ten for being late, and ten for talking back. Would you like to go for more?” Stiles grit his teeth, but shook his head, not trusting to use his words. Harris stepped back from the doorway, allowing him to move to his table. Stiles slumped onto the bench next to Scott, who tried to communicate to him with his eyebrows. 

_Later_ , he signaled back, not wanting to cost his House anymore points. The lesson was mind-numbing, mixing ingredients in 30 second intervals for 30 minutes before changing out cauldrons and doing it again, to then add the two cauldrons together and then add _more_. By the end Stiles was ready to pull his hair out of his head. Even Lydia looked like she'd rather be somewhere else. Jackson was flat out sleeping. 

"Oh god this needs to _end_ ," Scott moaned as he stirred listlessly, head resting on the desk. Stiles looked up in time to see the cauldron start to tip with the listing of Scott's hand, grabbing both to keep them from getting an incomplete, or worse, having to start all over. Finally, _finally_ , the last granules fell from the timer, and they were able to bottle the concoction into three separate vials. 

"These won't be ready to test until Monday, so please place them securely on your designated shelves. Mr. Stilinski-" Stiles froze from his stretch, arms poised in the air, "- stay after a few minutes." He shot a look at Scott, who shrugged, grabbing two of the vials. Stiles followed with the third, confusion still etched across his face.

"Is this because I was late?" He murmured, knocking the glass against the two Scott had already set down. 

"I don't know... you didn't do anything wrong in class... if anything I thought Jackson was gonna get it." Stiles scoffed at that; Jackson _never_ got in trouble. He had a feeling it had to do with his father being a big deal in the Ministry. Probably wrote big donations to the school. "Well, maybe he just wants to keep you after for the amount of time you missed?"

"It was like, 30 seconds!"

"Kinda more like five minutes."

"Ugh, whatever, I was running from the other side of the castle."

"Yeah, about that-" A throat clearing made the boys turn, only to see that they were the only ones left in the class, with Harris staring pointedly at them, long arms crossed over his chest and a pinched look on his face.

"Uh, I guess I'll talk to you later, Scott?" Stiles tried to keep the mild panic out of his voice as he closed the door to the shelving unit. Scott lingered next to him for a few seconds before nodding and squeezing his shoulder, keeping his eyes on him as he walked to the door, then pausing again at the frame. 

“Go on Mr. McCall, I promise I won’t turn him into a newt.” Scott narrowed his eyes at the professor before giving Stiles another reassuring nod and going out the door, propping it open behind him. Stiles grinned until Harris waved his wand, causing the thick wood to shut with a _thud_. 

"Look I'm sorry for being la-"

"Can the apologies, Stilinski. That's not why I asked you to stay." Stiles couldn't help but be a little intrigued by this. "I've noticed you seem to spend a lot of time with Professor Hale." Stiles throat went dry, clicking a little as he tried to swallow in an effort to keep his heartbeat steady. 

"Ye-yeah, he's my thesis advisor. Aren't you advising any students?"

"Two, and they don't come to my office at all hours of the evening, and stay until curfew." Someday, some blessed day, Stiles will learn to keep his mouth shut.

"Maybe he's just a better teacher than you are." He immediately closed his eyes, waiting for the verbal assault and mass deduction of points, but it never came. When he opened his eyes he saw the man _smiling_. It was one of the most unsettling things he'd ever seen.

"Perhaps. Perhaps you're just a more demanding student. Regardless, that's actually not why I had you stay after, either." He pulled out a crisply folded piece of parchment from his robe sleeves, "I need you to deliver this to him. It's sensitive information and needs to get to him as soon as possible. Do you think you can manage?" Stiles almost wanted to ask why an owl, or even Duke, couldn't do it, but didn't really want to open up anymore avenues of conversation, plus Scott was waiting for him, so he just nodded, grabbing the letter and shoving it in his robe pocket.

"Remember, it's sensitive."

"Got it. Can I go now?" Harris spread a hand out toward the door, which Stiles hastened for as soon as he could, taking the steps up three at a time, leaving him panting once he reached the top.

"Shit! Are you okay? What did he do? What did he want?" Scott, beautiful, perfect Scott, grabbed his shoulder to steady him, one hand flat against Stiles' now heaving chest.

"Fine- just- hate being alone down there," Stiles gasped out as he regained his breath. Once he had his heartbeat down to normal he told Scott what had happened, both with Harris and with Erica (the truth, followed by the lie they would tell everyone else), as they slowly made their way towards the Quidditch pitch for practice. 

"Oh, before I go, I gotta get this thing to Prof. Hale. No need to rile up the snake, right?" Scott nodded, shooting a thumbs up before trotting towards the double doors leading to the courtyard. Stiles pulled an about-face, heading to the Professors' offices. 

____________________________

"Knock knock," he said, sticking his head through the open door. Derek looked up, waving a hand to gesture him further into the room. 

"Thought we weren't meeting until Monday? You guys seem like you have a pretty good handle on the moves now."

"Yeah, no, this- I need to give you something," he reached into the depths of his robe pocket and handed over the piece of paper, eyes drifting to the portraits playing a game of cards. He wasn't sure how a giraffe was holding anything in her hooves, but silently applauded the flush she carried.

“Uhm, Stiles…?” Derek trailed off. Stiles looked up to see his eyes had gone wide, cheeks coloring. “Are you sure… did you mean to give this to me?”

“Yeah, definitely. I mean it’s from Harris, but-” he stopped as the color drained from Derek’s cheeks, eyebrows stuck somewhere between confusion and terror.

“What’s the matter? What’s it say? OH HOLY SH-” Stiles made a mad grab for the heavily creased paper, which he’d only just realized used to be in the shape of a crane. Derek let go of it easily, still in the throes of recovery from his initial shock.

“That is NOT what you were supposed to see! Oh my _god_ ,” cheeks burning, Stiles shoved the paper into his left pocket while fishing out the actual note from the right. "Here, just- here," he practically threw the correct parchment at the other man before covering his face with both hands.

"Do I want to know why you're carrying around a note that says 'fu-" the professor was cut off as a massive cloud of purple dust came shooting out of the paper, coating his face and the top half of his torso. Stiles couldn't decide on an expression, landing on an amalgamation of shocked, delighted, and terrified.

"What the _fuck_ , Stiles?" Derek seethed, purple eyebrows bunching together.

"Dude-" Stiles choked out, trying hard not to laugh at the painted werewolf and his outburst of cursing, "I swear, I had no idea, it's from Harris..." now it was his turn to trail off and draw his eyebrows down. "It's from Harris... he never expected the paper to actually get to you. He figured _I_ would have opened it up and read it..." He reached over to run his fingers across Derek's shoulder, and yep, the residue stayed put, "this was meant for me. The fucker set me up!" Derek rubbed at his face, grimacing at the lack of purple on his hands, besides the tips of his fingers, where he’d held the parchment.

“Okay, let’s take it to the headmaster.” Derek clutched up the note from where it had wafted and stormed out of the office, Stiles on his heels. He’s sure they made quite the scene; half-purple werewolf being trailed by a kid known for mischief. Fortunately, for Derek’s sake, the headmaster’s office wasn’t too far, just a floor and a hallway away from his own. Deaton looked up casually despite rukus the door made as it flung open, and Stiles could tell he was holding back a grin as he took in Derek’s misfortune.

“Am I to assume Mr. Stilinski got a little carried away in class today?”

“Hey! I didn-”

“This is actually the work of one of your professors.” Derek cut in, flinging the slightly crumpled note onto the headmaster’s desk. Deaton picked it up gingerly, and both Stiles and Derek couldn’t help but flinch when he flipped it open. 

“That will teach you to interfere in other people’s business. It won’t wash off; you’ll have to own up and come see me,” Deaton read aloud, glancing up at the purple professor, “I’m guessing this wasn’t meant for you.” His eyes then flit to Stiles, who was still fuming, “Who gave it to you?”

“Professor Harris, sir. He’s always had it out for me, ever since-"

"And what, exactly, did he ask you to do?" Stiles paused and took a calming breath.

"He asked me to stay after class, so I did, and then he started asking about Professor Hale, like, how I spend extra time with him, because of my thesis. Anyway, he gave me the note, telling me to take it to him, and that it was sensitive. So I did. And then when Professor Hale opened it, _poof_." Deaton was silent and unnervingly calm, taking in Stiles' account.

"I see, would you both mind waiting a moment while I summon Adrian up here?" He gave his wand a couple of flicks, and after about two minutes of awkward silence the potions teacher came strolling in, smug look on his face that dropped as soon as he saw Derek sitting rigidly in the chair to Deaton's left.

"Oh, this was-"

"Yeah, not quite what you thought would happen, huh?" Stiles made to stand up, but was brought down to his seat by Derek's steady hand on his shoulder. 

“The enchantment was supposed to deactivate once it changed hands,” Harris looked sheepishly at Derek, “My apologies, Professor Hale.” Deaton shook his head.

"I believe your apologies should extend to Mr. Stilinski here as well, Adrian." Harris' grey eyes moved from Derek to Deaton to Stiles, eyebrows drawing down, "While he managed to make it out unscathed, the powder-attack was meant for him, was it not?" 

"I just wanted some definitive evidence on Stilinski's delinquent behavior. Herbs and ingredients have gone missing from my coffers, rude messages have been etched into my desk, and I know it was him!" He pointed a damning finger at Stiles, who couldn't help the drop in his jaw. 

"Professor Deaton, I _swear_ , I have no idea what he's talking about! I mean, yeah, I may have pulled a couple of acts of mischief around here," three very unimpressed pair of eyes fell on him, _et tu, Derek?_ , "Okay fine, maybe a bit more than a couple. But still, I didn't do that! Any of it! And, as you can plainly see, I didn't even open the note!"

"True enough, Mr. Stilinski. Adrian, I believe you owe both these young men an apology." The potions master's lip twitched as though he was holding back a snarl, but he turned toward Stiles.

"I'm sorry your past actions made me assume you'd behave like a cretin and read a note meant for someone else," and, far more heartfelt, to Derek, "I'm very sorry you were put into the middle of this. I hope I can make it up to you someday.” Stiles snorted a little, rolling his eyes. 

"Well now, though Professor Harris’ apologies do need some work, I believe we're done here. Adrian, please take Derek to retrieve whatever it is that will wash the purple off of him. Mr. Stilinski, you're free to go, and please let me know if there's any more undue harassment from any of the faculty."

“Oh I will,” he responded, staring hard at Harris’ back as he and Derek made their way out the door.

____________________________

Stiles was already late for quidditch practice by about 20 minutes, but he desperately wanted to follow the two professors, something in his gut clenching at the thought of them alone together. Hopefully Derek would just get the emollient and leave, going to his own corridors to wash up. It wasn't so bad being purple, right? Not so bad that he'd need to strip down and do it right there, right? Stiles knew Harris had something of a shower station in the back in case a toxic potion got out of hand, but, surely Derek wouldn't use it. Surely he'd- Stiles had to go check on him. 

He sent a quick message to Scott before running toward the dungeons, stopping short of the first step so he could creep down as silently as possible. He could hear voices murmuring, but couldn't quite make out words yet. He'd have to get closer. He silently cursed himself for not getting some extendable ears while at Weasely Wizard Wheezes last month. He slunk down, hugging the stone wall until he got to the door, which was still open at least. That was a good sign. He leaned over, which allowed him to peer into the classroom. Derek was still purple. He breathed a little sigh of relief.

"Are you sure you don't need any help? It can be tricky to get it all off."

"I think I'll manage. It's all on my front anyway... so long as it doesn't seep through clothes I should be fine.

"Well we can check now," Stiles' heart stopped as Derek looked up, stunned by the other professor's words. There was nothing 'helpful' about his tone, and even from such a distance Stiles could see the hunger in his eyes as he bracketed Derek, _his_ Derek, against the wall.

"Oh come on, don't look so surprised, you must know what you do to me," Harris was saying, running a finger down Derek's cheek. Stiles' stomach heaved as he watched the older professor advance, closing the short distance between their bodies. 

"Adrian, I can't-"

"But, don't you see, you _can_ , you're an adult now. Grew up in all the right places," he ran a hand down from his shoulder, over his chest, to settle on his hip, pulling him in a little, angling him. "C'mon, it'll just be a little fun. Letting loose a little steam. I know we both need it..."

"I _can't_ ," Derek was more forceful this time, pushing away from the older yet slighter man, rebuffing his advances as Stiles silently cheered. Harris grabbed his arm but was quickly shaken off, leaving him fuming in the background as Derek made his way out of the room. Stiles scrambled up the steps, hoping in vain that he was quiet enough to avoid werewolf detection.

"Stiles." Well shit.

"Heyyy, uh, I just wanted to make sure-"

"Come with me."

"Ye'okay," the walking formation was getting eerily familiar, elbows brushing against Derek’s, sneaking glances when he hoped the other man wasn't looking. They walked in silence for a long while until Derek finally spoke.

"You really didn't take his ingredients?" Stiles was more than a little put off by this; he'd assumed Derek asked him along because of... well... not to question him about something he'd already said he didn't do.

"No, man, couldn't you hear my heartbeat? Plus, I kind of hate potions, why would I steal stuff to work on it during my own time? That doesn't make any sense."

"I know, I just wanted to make sure... how much did you hear?"

"I saw you slam down his advances!"

"That's not what I asked."

"Ugh, fine, I started listening when he was offering to," he couldn't help the shudder, "shower with you. Man, I'm going to have to pull that memory out and set it on fire." He paused, making Derek stop as well, "Unless, do you need me to testify or something? That was _totally_ sexual harassment in the workplace!"

“I can handle him, Stiles, I don’t want you getting in the middle of this.”

“Too late, Harris saw to that.”

“You know what I mean. Don’t antagonize, not on my behalf.”

“It’s kind of hard to take you seriously when you’re all purple like that…” Derek flicked him in the nose.

“-and don’t deflect. Focus on your studies, on quidditch. I’m a werewolf, I can handle Harris.”

“Unless he uses that wonderful skillset against you. Just,” on impulse he grabbed the professor’s lapels and turned him, pushing him against the wall of the empty corridor, “ _promise_ me you’ll be careful. Extra careful. Especially around Harris.” 

“I will,” Derek brought his hands up to Stiles’, but instead of prying them off he covered them, giving them a little squeeze. They stood that way, breathing each other’s air for a long moment before Derek nodded toward the way they came, “You better get going. Your team’s probably wondering where you are.”

“I left Scott a message,” he wanted to lean in, he wanted to run his hands up behind Derek’s neck, he wanted to reclaim the kiss he’d lost in the Shrieking Shack, but most of all he wanted to be better than Harris had been, “but yeah, I should probably show my face.” He loosened his hold, stepping back and sliding his hands out from under Derek’s, but was still unable to look away. “I, uh, I’m taking Erica Reyes to the Yule Ball.” Derek smiled a little, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I heard. A few girls were crying about it in my third hour.”

“They wanted to go with me?”

“They wanted to go with Erica. Lucky thing you asked her first.” Stiles huffed out a laugh, looking down and rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. 

“You going?” Derek nodded noncommittally.

“I’ll probably be roped into chaperoning for a few hours. Gotta make sure Scott doesn’t embarrass himself with that dance.” Stiles perked up at this, genuine smile crossing his face.

“He’s gonna _kill_ it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, the Yule Ball (I swear they'll actually get to it at some point!)!


	13. A Mashing of Flash Dances and Foot Looses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuses, just, thank you for not giving up on me and this story. 
> 
> An extra special thanks to Stileslovesderek for being the best and helping me through slumps and commissioning artwork of my story and just being amazing. Seriously, you rock.

“Dude, I don’t think I can do this!”

“What, yes you can! You’ve been practicing everyday for a _month_ , your moves are _divine_ , you are going to wow the shit out of everyone.” Stiles rubbed his hands over Scott’s shoulders, which did little more than rumple his fancy dress-robes. He quickly smoothed down the wrinkles before giving them both a once-over in the mirror as he stood alongside Scott. They looked pretty good for sporting some second-hand dress-robes they’d found at the _Thrifty Witch_ ; Boyd had been nice enough to sew up the hole in the seat of Scott’s pants, even if he side-eyed Stiles the whole time. He still didn’t totally believe Stiles and Erica were just friends, probably because he was head over heels for Erica and didn’t understand how anyone could _not_ be. Well, any lingering suspicion was going to end tonight.

“You guys ready?” Danny asked from the other side of the door, rapping his knuckles against the wood. Stiles grinned and clapped his hands back onto Scott’s shoulders and gave a firm squeeze, wrinkles be damned.

“You got this,” he whispered, before shouting, “Yeah, we’re coming!” and dragging Scott to the door. As always, Danny looked like a walking fashion plate. Scott let out a whistle as Stiles asked who the lucky guy was.

“Ethan, from Hufflepuff. C’mon, we’re going to be late,” he quickly smoothed Scott’s robes before heading down the hall, both boys quick at his heels. Stiles absentmindedly fiddled with the box the corsage was in, opening and closing it, running the tips of his fingers over the irresistibly soft petals. For some inexplicable reason he was nervous, fidgeting as they waited for the ridiculous moving staircase to make it’s way back to the tower entrance. 

They’d arranged to meet up with everyone in the East Lobby. It was a popular spot, with students milling around, complimenting each other on their outfits, hair, and dates. Stiles spied Allison waiting with Lydia and Jackson, talking animatedly about something or other, and nudged Scott to point them out. He grinned his thanks before heading over, leaving Stiles and Danny to find their own dates. 

“Is that him?” Stiles asked, pointing out the good looking guy he’d thought he’d seen playing for Hufflepuff. Danny squinted and shook his head.

“No, that’s his twin brother, Aiden. Ethan’s got kinder eyes.”

“Of course he does.” Stiles didn’t rightly know what ‘kind eyes’ looked like, so he’d leave that particular search up to Danny, opting to keep his own eyes peeled for Dereka. _Erica_. He was looking for _Erica_. He shook his head viciously before setting out again.

He found her with Kira, both girls talking over an overwhelmed looking boy. His thick glasses emphasized the frightened look in his eyes as he glanced around the room. He spotted Stiles before the girls did, eyebrows performing the complicated _please save me_ dance. Stiles was debating the merits of being a savior versus the joy of making someone sweat a bit when Erica turned and saw him, summoning him over with a predatory smile and wave of her hand. Decision made.

“Happy Yule Ball!” He declared, holding out the boxed corsage. He wasn’t one hundred percent on the formalities involved in this kind of thing, but Erica seemed pleased. She slid the flowers over her hand, flexing her wrist around before smiling widely and pulling Stiles in for a hug and a peck on the cheek. So far so good.

“Hi Stiles,” Kira grinned and tugged lightly on the other boy’s arm, “you remember Jared?”

“Jared…” there was a faraway look in his eyes as he thought back, “Jare- _yes_! You’re the one that threw up on Finstock during our first flying lesson!” He slapped the kid’s back, jarring the glasses off his nose, “That was _genius_!” Kira gave him a wide-eyed, slack-jawed look.

“I was more thinking about the Potions Fair he won last year.”

“Oh,” Stiles stepped back, “Yeah, I guess that works too.” Jared looked like he was on the verge of throwing up again, so Erica grabbed Stiles’ arm and steered him toward the grand staircase after bidding a quick ‘good luck’ to Kira. 

“You definitely have a way with people,” she muttered, slipping her arm through the crook of his elbow. He resisted the urge to look back and make sure Jared was still in one piece.

The Great Hall was hardly recognizable, dolled up and decked out with ornate dressings on the windows and tables. There was a large space on the front of the room for dancing, while the band warmed up on a levitating platform just above it. It looked like Stiles wasn’t the only one who had skipped out on all dances prior, as Erica gaped in wonder at the scene before them.

“I know I’ve been in here roughly three thousand eight hundred and ninety two times, but WOW, this looks…” she said, trailing off as she slowly turned to take it all in. Stiles grinned fondly at her, enjoying the room’s transformation as well. His eyes wandered around the Hall until they lighted on another pair. A blush crept up his cheeks as he watched Derek’s eyes sweep up and down his body, before allowing his own to respond in kind. Derek looked… _edible_. The dark suit was perfectly tailored to fit his frame, accentuating the breadth of his shoulders and narrowness of his waist, with no silly robes to get in the way. Coal-black hair perfectly coiffed, stubble artfully styled, tie set stark and straight. He looked so perfect, Stiles’ fingers itched to ruffle him up a bit.

“C’mon, let’s go get some punch,” Erica said, tugging at his arm with a wolfish grin. There was little to no chance that she hadn’t noticed his Derek-caused aneurysm. He tossed one more look toward the professor before allowing her to lead him to the ridiculous fountain of beverages. She squeezed his bicep a little harder than necessary and gave him an exaggerated wink, and yeah, she’d noticed. Thankfully it wasn’t long before Danny found them, properly introducing Ethan. It was a little awkward, old boyfriend meeting new, but they got through it with most of their dignity still intact. 

A fanfare started playing from the back of the room, pulling everyone’s attention to the descending staircase. The quidditch captains stood tall at the top, arms linked with their respective dates’. Stiles’ stomach did a little flip in anticipation of what’s to come as he zeroed in on Scott, who gave a wave as he looked over the crowd, a slightly constipated look on his face. Allison had a more convincing smile, but there was definitely some panic in her eyes. 

“He’s gonna be fine,” Stiles jerked at the voice coming from behind him, turning to find Isaac hovering just over his shoulder, leaned in to whisper the affirmation into his ear. He nodded back jerkily, but the words did nothing to calm the flutters in his gut. 

The captains were announced to rousing cheers from their respective houses before descending the ornate staircase. Stiles couldn’t help but keep his fingers crossed that Scott wouldn’t trip, and breathed an audible sigh of relief when he and Allison set foot on the floor. Kira actually did lose her footing for a split second, but was thankfully able to right herself with a firm grip on Jared’s arm, apparently he was sturdier than he looked. Monica’s face was entirely too smug as she simpered next to Boyd, and Stiles just hoped Erica wasn’t too bothered by the display, patting her clenched hand lightly. Jackson and Lydia were last to take their places on the dance floor, looking for all the world like royalty, as though they belonged in the spotlight all day, every day. As the applause and catcalls died down the music began, with the dancers getting into their first position. Stiles’ heartbeat thrummed as though he were the one dancing in front of an audience, and a sudden twinge from both sides made him realize he wasn’t the only spectator to feel that way. Isaac was digging his fingers into his left shoulder as Erica gripped his right arm tighter than strictly necessary. 

There were a few grimace worthy moments in the beginning - Scott taking too big of steps and starting a turn a measure early - but after a panicked look out into the crowd he took a deep breath, nodded, and continued, recovering from his misstep and sweeping Allison along with the music. Stiles shifted his eyes to where Scott had looked to find Derek lingering in the back of the crowd, nodding his head lightly to the tempo. A feeling of contented warmth bloomed from his chest, spreading out to his fingers and down to his toes as he watched the wordless exchange. He resumed his focus back on Scott, but couldn’t help the occasional flicker to the back of the room. 

Stiles counted the beats in his head, mentally performing the moves along with the dancers as the song progressed. A light and repetitive nudge from his left suggested Isaac was in the same boat, tamping down on his now conditioned response to the music with a little less success. 

“Dude, we are amazing friends,” Stiles whispered, prodding the taller boy with his elbow. The touch seemed to pull Isaac from his musical headspace, cheeks coloring a little as he continued to stare at the dancers… at Scott.

“Yeah, but look at him,” he sighed, “he’s amazing.” Stiles couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows at that, wondering what all he’d missed at dance practice, having been too wrapped up in Derek to notice any other sexual tension that might have been in the room. Erica leaned over, eyes darting between Stiles, Isaac, and Scott.

“Okay I’m definitely sitting with you all from now on.” Stiles huffed out a laugh just before the dancers executed their final move. The room erupted into applause and whistles, students surging onto the dance floor to ‘ooo’ and ‘ahh’ over the captains. Stiles fought the urge to elbow his way through, knowing he’d get to congratulate Scott and Boyd soon enough. He turned, looking past the thrum of people to see Derek nodding, small, barely discernible smile on his lips before he turned around, heading towards the east hall. Stiles felt a mild panic that he was only there for the formal dance, to support Scott, but calmed as he watched him stop at the refreshments table, pouring himself a drink before turning once more to face the cacophony of the Grand Hall.

“Hey, you want punch?” Stiles half-shouted over the din as he leaned in toward Erica, “I’m gonna go get us some punch,” she nodded, eyes still on Boyd’s back as Stiles patted her shoulder before easing his way through the milling crowd. It wasn’t long before Derek spotted him, eyes lighting up a little as he ineffectually hid his smirk behind the cup, watching as Stiles squeezed between two hulking sixth years before stumbling his way to the conveniently empty refreshment table.

“Oh, hey Professor Hale, didn’t see you there,” Stiles said, adjusting his dress robes from where they’d been yanked off his shoulder. He didn’t miss the way Derek watched his hands, eyes sweeping down his chest before landing back on his face. “So,” he spread his arms out a little, “whaddya think?”

“I’m impressed.” Derek reached out and tugged lightly on the left lapel before smoothing it down, “You clean up well, Mr. Stilinski.” Stiles didn’t even try to hide the pleased grin the compliment got out of him, his upper chest still warm despite the brevity of their contact. He was about to comment on Derek’s own fancy get-up when a body veritably slammed into his back, arms wrapping around his shoulders in a crushing hug. “ _Dude_!” he gasped out, knowing only one person who hugged like that.

“Did you see me?”

“Nah, I figured I’d hit the can while everyone was distracted. Of _course_ I saw you. I didn’t spend hours of my life helping you perfect the spin-slide-hop so I could bunk off at show time.” Stiles squirmed out of the hold in order to turn and give a proper hug, nearly blinded by the smile beaming off of Scott’s face. “You were fucking _awesome_.”

“Thanks man, I owe you _so much_.” They clung to each other for a few seconds longer, until Scott looked up to see Derek watching them. “You too, Professor. Seriously.”

“You did great out there,” Derek said, voice soft but sincere. Scott’s grin widened, somehow, before he relinquished his hold on Stiles and made to shake Derek’s hand, pulling him into a hug at the last second. Stiles cringed as Derek’s face morphed from shocked to resigned, patting Scott on the back a few times with his empty cup before pulling away. 

“I gotta go find Allison, I just wanted to say thanks,” Scott clapped Derek’s shoulder while simultaneously squeezing Stiles’ arm, “See you guys out there!” And with that he was gone, diving back into the crowd with the enthusiasm of a man who had cheated death. Stiles let out a little laugh, grinning crookedly out toward the dance floor before turning back to Derek. 

“You wanna dance?” He asked, jerking his arms around his body in a poor imitation of a popular dance move. Derek smirked, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes, and held out two cups of punch.

“Go find your date.” His voice was firm, if not a little forlorn, as he looked at Stiles for a few seconds before fixing his gaze deliberately past him. Stiles took the drinks, eyebrows drawn at the sudden change in demeanor. He’d just been goofing around, hadn’t really expected Derek to bust a move with him. He was about to say so when a couple came stumbling up to the table, and Derek turned his full attention onto them. 

“Thanks, Professor,” he muttered, receiving barely a nod in return. The pit of his stomach felt cold as he weaved his way through the crowd, only haphazardly looking for Erica. He spotted Isaac first, bless that boy’s height, and began heading that way slowly, regretting his beverage run as he was jostled by bodies on all sides, sloshing the sticky liquid over his fingers. By the time he reached them each cup was only about half full, his hands a tacky mess, and his mood soured by the cold shoulder he’d received. Erica looked happy enough, grinning with Isaac over a shared story, eyes twinkling as she spotted Stiles and thanked him for the drink. He handed the second cup over to Isaac, who accepted almost cautiously, before mindlessly wiping his hands on his robes. Isaac watched the motion and nodded toward his drink.

“Next time you should ask a chaperone to cast ‘no-spill’ on the cups.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess that would have been smart, huh?”

“Distracted, Stilinski?” Erica asked, grinning and winking as she pulled the cup away from her lips. Stiles resisted the urge to make a face and instead set his gaze out toward the crowd. The songs so far had all been fast paced, the dance floor a writhing mass of teenagers, midterms a distant memory. Witch Hazel’s platform zipped through the air, lights flashing along to the music as they played to the crowd. 

“C’mon,” he said, grabbing Erica’s hand and leading her out to the floor. It really would be a shame for him go through his last and only Yule Ball without even getting in a dance. Erica followed, waving at Isaac as they weaved through the gyrating couples, finding themselves in the thick of it as Witch Hazel started playing a thrashy number. It was easy to get lost in the sounds and excitement of the crowd, throwing his body around in a fashion that belied the nearly classical dance training he’d spent the past month going through. Erica was a good partner for it, laughing and joining in, preventing him from toppling into one couple and purposefully throwing him at another. 

“Sorry! Sorry bout-” Stiles started to apologize, but stopped after receiving a withering glare from Monica, arms wrapped around a tale, willowy Ravenclaw. “Okayyy,” he muttered, hands up as he flipped back around to face Erica, whose brown eyes were wide in faux innocence.

“Oops?”

“Yeah yeah,” Stiles grinned as his eyes darted around the room. If Monica was with that guy, it meant Boyd was probably alone somewhere. Probably moping in the corner. Probably… hanging out by the refreshment table, glaring at him. Looked like it was time to put Operation Date Swap into action. 

“C’mon!” He shouted over the music, giving a light tug on her wrist to lead her through the masses.

“Where’re we going?” She shouted back, leaning in to avoid another student’s flailing dance moves.

“Gonna find Scott.”

“Oh, I thought I saw him with Isaac over- Oh my god!” Her hands flew up to her mouth as an elbow connected with Stiles’ face, blood pouring from his nose. 

“Holy SHIT,” Stiles squeezed his eyes shut at the pain, bending over and covering half his face in an attempt to keep the blood spurts at a minimum. The hand on his his neck felt too big to be Erica’s, and his heart thumped when he looked up to see Derek’s worried eyes looking back at him.

“Let’s see it,” the words, though murmured, sounded clear as day to Stiles as he gingerly moved his hands away, lifting his head. He could see Erica cringe out of the corner of his eye as Derek tilted his head, inspecting the injury. A circle had formed around them, the gawking students creating something of a barrier from the rest of the party. Stiles couldn’t help but notice Boyd at Erica’s side, not looking the least bit upset by the circumstances. He also couldn’t help the pained yelp as Derek gingerly touched the bridge of his nose.

“It’s broken; let’s get you out of here.” 

“I should probably go with…” Erica began, but was quickly cut off by Stiles’ waving hand.

“No, this is your Yule Ball, stay. Enjoy it. Find some tall, dark beau and make his night.” Erica smiled at that, flitting her eyes toward Boyd, who was smiling warmly back, offering out a hand. She clasped it, but not before shooting one last look toward Stiles.

“You’re sure.”

“Absolutely,” he swayed a little, steadied by Derek’s firm hands, one on his arm, the other pressed between his shoulder blades. He hoped the look he gave her conveyed that he had his own tall, dark beau to take care of him. Judging by her darting eyes and knowing smirk, the message was received. Without letting go of Boyd’s hand she leaned in and kissed his cheek, giving a whispered, “thanks” before breaking the circle of gawkers and leading Boyd out to the dance floor. 

“Okay Nurse Hale, carry me off to safety.” Derek snorted, tugging lightly on his arm before guiding him through the parted crowd, keeping the jostling to a minimum. Stiles’ whole face throbbed and his vision was a little blurry, so there was little resistance on his part. Not to mention the warmth from Derek’s hands was making him a little light headed. Or maybe that was the bloodloss…

“You still with me?” Derek asked, heading him toward the infirmary, the sounds of the party muffled by the heavy doors that had opened and closed on their own. Stiles nodded, his nose clogged with congealing blood, head still swimming. He vaguely wondered if Derek was planning on just dumping him with Madame Ponziri so he could head back to the dance, while hoping fervently that wouldn’t be the case. He felt Derek’s hand slide up to his neck, fingers hot against his bare skin, and the pain receded a little.

They finally made it to the hospital wing, only to be greeted by a dazzling sign, _Gone Dancin’_. Stiles whimpered at the thought of going back to the dance to find the medical practitioner, and was about to tell Derek to just leave him there when the werewolf growled and marched Stiles into the stark white room, hoisting him onto a gurney. 

“What’re you-”

“Hold still,” Derek said, taking Stiles’ face in his hands, carefully pressing along the abused skin before sighing. “Okay, this is gonna hurt. You ready?”

“Ready? No, _hell no_ , don’t-” but there was a push and snap and blinding pain and hey, Stiles could breathe through his nostrils again.

“You okay?” 

“ _Fuuuuuuuck_ ,” Stiles groaned, eyes shut in an attempt to dull the pain. It was slowly ebbing down to a dull throb, which was still more than he wanted to deal with. When he opened his eyes Derek had his back to him, pawing through some some supplies on the counter. “Fuck, man, couldn’t you have magicked it okay?” Derek turned, hands full of cotton swabs and poultice.

“I don’t know those kinds of spells.” He dumped his collection next to Stiles before walking away again, coming back with a damp cloth. Stiles eyed it warily.

“What do you know about treating human injuries?” 

“I had a human brother, who didn’t let that stop him from running with the pack,” Derek leaned in close, lightly dabbing at the dried blood, keeping one hand on Stiles’ cheek, “He was also naturally clumsy, so we all became medics in our own right.” Stiles didn’t miss the use of past tense, or the fact that there was more to the pack than just him and Laura. But for now it was hard to think of anything but the warm hand cradling his face, the thumb gently brushing against his cheekbone. It took a moment before Stiles realized the pain had almost completely dissipated, leaving a warm fuzzy feeling in his brain.

“Did you sneak me some drugs?” He slurred, heart fluttering at the light laugh Derek let out at the question.

“No, just relax, almost done here,” he was brushing the cool poultice over the bridge of his nose in silky strokes, the soft touches making Stiles react in a way he would be embarrassed about later. He closed his eyes as Derek placed the sterile gauze over his nose, adhering it with the poultice. “There, that will help with the pain.”

“B’there’s no pain…”

“I can’t hold onto you forever.”

“Yes you can,” it was raw and honest and punctuated by Stiles’ hand covering Derek’s, holding him to his cheek, nuzzling into his touch. Their eyes met, and for one heart-stopping moment Stiles thought, _oh my god, it’s happening_ , before the werewolf lept back, leaving him disoriented and muzzy as he felt the pain slowly creeping back in. He was about to ask what gives when he heard the sound of shoes clicking against the stone floors seconds before the curtain was flung open to reveal Madam Ponziri in a stunning blue dress and a grim look on her face.

“I told Finstock I shouldn’t leave,” she grumbled, taking in Derek’s handiwork. She took Stiles’ face into her thin hands, bending it this way and that, before smirking and casting a quick look toward Derek, “Not bad, Hale. The bone is set correctly, though the tip is still a little turned up-”

“It’s always like that,” Derek interjected, and Stiles grinned before he could stop himself.

“I see. Well then, all that’s left for me is to take care of the bruising. Unless you want to keep the double black eyes as well?”

“Nope, have at it,” Stiles said, settling back on his palms. Ponziri muttered some incantations and flicked her wand, making Stiles face feel cool, then numb, then ticklish, then like he’d released a breath of air he’d been holding in for a decade. It was kind of a rush.

“You should probably take it easy for a few hours. No crazy dancing, no fights,” her eyes slipped to his front, “and you might want to change your outfit.” Stiles looked down for the first time since the incident, finding his button up and robes covered in red. He groaned, slumping back on the gurney as Ponziri straightened up, smoothing down her dress and slipping her wand into a concealed pocket before turning to Derek. “You good to take care of him?”

“Hey! It’s not like I’m incapaci-”

“Yeah, I’ll make sure he’s okay.” She smiled before patting Derek’s cheek, making Stiles internally bristle.

“You’re one of the good ones. See you boys out there. Save me a dance, Hale!” And with that she was out the door, and Stiles hoped for everyone else’s sake there were no more mishaps tonight. He slid off the gurney, wobbling for just a second before he found his footing. Derek was at his side in an instant, a steadying hand on his elbow.

“I’m fine, seriously. You can go back to the dance if you want.”

“I said I’d take care of you,” he glanced down at the ruined outfit, “Do you want to change first?” Stiles’ cheeks colored as he took his arm out of Derek’s hold. 

“Don’t really have a spare to change into. Didn’t think I’d bleed all over myself, at least not this early in the night.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” There was a beat of silence, an awkward pause before Stiles plowed on, “But it’s fine, not like I have a date to get back to.” Derek’s brows furrowed at that.

“I thought you and Erica-”

“Did you not see her run off with Boyd? I’ve never seen her so happy.” Derek shrugged, looking at the door.

“She seemed happy with you.” Stiles couldn’t help but smile at the attempted defense of his honor. 

“Dude, it’s seriously fine, all part of the plan.” Derek snapped his head back to look at Stiles, eyes wide and a little angry.

“ _This_ was all a _plan_?” 

“No, not-” Stiles waved his arms around his face, “not _this_ , I was hoping to pull it off with little to no bloodshed, really, but hey, it worked.”

“And what, exactly, _worked_?”

“Erica and Boyd… the whole point of me asking Erica was so she could end up with Boyd tonight and I wouldn’t have to go with anyone else.” Derek’s brows were still lowered in confusion, mouth set in a grim twist as he tried to make sense of it all. Stiles sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll try to explain better, but can we get out of here? Infirmaries creep me out.” Derek nodded, stepping back to let him take the lead. The sounds of the dance were drifting down the corridor, so Stiles turned the opposite way, heading toward the dorms. They walked in quiet for a couple minutes before Derek bumped their shoulders together, eyebrows raised in expectance.

“What?”

“You said you’d explain better.”

“Right, okay, well, you see- god this is going to sound so high school-”

“You _are_ in high school.”

“Shut up. So anyway, Boyd and Erica like each other, right? But Boyd still had to go to the dance with Monica, his ex-girlfriend, ‘cause he promised and she probably threatened and I think she just wanted to do that stupid dance and be the center of attention. Regardless, he couldn’t ask Erica, so she just wasn’t gonna go, which would make two miserable people. So I figured _I_ could go with Erica, which would keep other people from asking me and get both of us to the dance.” He shot a look at Derek, who still seemed confused.

“So, why were you so against going with anyone else?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged, shoving his hands into his robes as they rounded a corner, “Erica was safe. I knew she wouldn’t be hoping for anything else.”

“Like...?” Stiles groaned, glaring at him with side eye. 

“You’re being purposefully obtuse, aren’t you?” Derek held up his hands in a placating gesture, but didn’t say anything, so Stiles rolled his eyes and continued, “Since I knew Erica was into Boyd, there wasn’t a chance she would see this as a date, or a gesture of a want to date, or anything like that.”

“Because that’s not what you want?”

“Not with anyone who had asked me.” They were outside his dorm room now, the hallway almost eerily silent. Stiles was afraid to open the door, to end this night alone in his room with a bloody shirt and the phantom memory of Derek’s hand on his neck. He glanced over to see Derek looking intently back at him, lips slightly parted, eyes still somehow bright in the darkened hallway.

“And who did you want to ask you?” The question was whispered, practically swallowed by the silence of the corridor but for the breath that passed between them. Stiles’ heart hammered in his chest as his fingers brushed the cool metal of the door latch.

“Someone who couldn’t ask me, even if he wanted t-,” he was cut off by a mouth covering his own, firm hands cradling his face as his body was pressed to the door. His response was instantaneous, lips parting, long fingers clutching at Derek’s shirt, desperate to keep him there. He was sure later he’d be embarrassed by the needy whines escaping every time he took a breath, but at this moment he gave absolutely zero fucks. Derek was kissing him. Derek _Fucking_ Hale was kissing him, and was even fully conscious this time. 

Just as Stiles was about to get a handful of that ass Derek pulled away, panic etched over his gorgeous, debauched face as he panted for breath.

“Stiles, we can’t-” and before Stiles could open his mouth to argue, he continued, “not here.” _Not here_. The two most beautiful words in the history of mankind. Stiles nodded, grappling for the door latch, one hand still securely clutching onto Derek’s suit.  
With gentle hands Derek pried the fingers loose.

“Not there, either.” Anxiety started to build in Stiles’ chest.

“But… where…?” 

“Shrieking Shack, meet me there in half an hour, okay?” He pressed a kiss to Stiles’ slack mouth, “Can you get there?” Stiles’ eyes slid to the promising bulge starting in Derek’s pants.

“Yeah, oh hell yeah,” with the promise of makeouts and more, Stiles could get fuckin _anywhere_. Derek smiled, leaning in for one more kiss before he tore himself away, hurrying down the hall, throwing one last look at Stiles before disappearing around the corner. Stiles deflated a little, heart practically beating out of his chest as he cracked the door open, slipping into the dark room, still trying to convince himself that that _actually happened_. 

“Half an hour.” He had to find his best, non-blood-stained clothes and fast.


	14. He Seems Like the Type of Teacher That Paddles for Fun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuses. I hope you all can forgive my egregious lateness.

Derek paced the scuffed up floorboards, still in his Yule Ball finery, wondering for the thousandth time if this was a bad idea. Scratch that, he _knew_ this was a bad idea, probably one of the worst ideas he’d ever had. At best he could get fired; at worst, dragged out to the Forbidden Forest and shot. And yet… he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Holding Stiles, closing the distance between them, it had just felt _right_. 

His heart pounded with every sound the old shack made as the wind whipped around it, anxious for Stiles to arrive, and terrified that he actually would. A small part of him - likely the part that held his ever dwindling self-preservation - hoped that Stiles wouldn’t show up, that the boy would come to his senses, that Derek wouldn’t have to be the strong one, because he really, _really_ didn’t think that he could. However, the rest of his mind and body thrummed with anticipation.

There was a sharp tap at the window before it was hauled open with a strained _creak_. Derek’s heart practically thudded through his chest as he watched Stiles fold his body to fit through the narrow opening, balancing precariously between the window sill and his broom. Had he not seen Stiles’ prowess on the quidditch pitch he would have rushed over to help, but as it was he needed to hang on to every thread of resistance he had. A resistance that was weakening by the second as he watched the nubile young man maneuver his way into the dingy room, unfurling his long limbs, strong fingers gripping onto the wooden frame of the window as one foot found purchase on the floor, the other still hooked securely over the handle of his broom. Derek was as aroused as he was curious to see how Stiles was going to manage to get both himself and the broom inside without loss or injury. With a little twist and a huff he reached an arm back out to grab the handle, allowing his right leg to relax and finally ease the rest of his body through the window. By the time he turned his cheeks were splotched with pink, possibly from the cold, possibly from his recent exertion of energy, and definitely from arousal. 

“I wasn’t sure if you’d actually be here,” he breathed out, eyes glistening as he set his broom against the wall. Derek forced himself to stay where he was, using his last bit of control to give Stiles a chance to say no, warn him of what he was really getting himself into. 

“Stiles, I shouldn’t have-” the following words were lost as a hand covered his mouth.

“Unless you were about to say ‘waited so long,’ don’t you _dare_ finish that sentence. I want this, okay? I’ve wanted this for a _long_ time, and nothing, literally _nothing_ you say is going to make me change my mind.” He looked straight at Derek, eyes wide with determination and just a hint of fear. Derek wrapped his fingers around the younger man’s wrist, sliding his hand from mouth to cheek as his own free hand wrapped around the nape of Stiles’ neck, thumb grazing his jaw.

“Okay,” he leaned in, pausing a breath away from Stiles’ mouth, “but we _are_ going to have to talk about it-”

“Oh my god shut the fuck up,” Stiles groaned, pushing forward to close the distance between them. Derek closed his eyes at the press of lips against his, leaning into the kiss as he slipped his arm around the boy’s waist, tugging them closer together. The action elicited a slight groan out of the boy and apparently gave permission to touch, as suddenly Stiles’ hands were all over the place, running over his shoulders, down his chest, through his hair, all the while never breaking the kiss. 

“Can we- can I-?” He mumbled against Derek’s lips, fingers tugging at the silk tie still wrapped around his neck. Derek nodded, slipping his hands underneath Stiles’ shirt to palm hot, smooth skin. Stiles whimpered as he finally undid the knot, flinging the tie away from him before attacking the buttons, whining in frustration as his fingers fumbled over the small fasteners.

“Need some help?”

“I’ve never hated a shirt so much.” He’d taken to just tugging at the fabric in an attempt to rip it off, patience be damned. Derek smirked a little as he stepped out of Stiles’ grasp, took hold of the shirt and tugged, causing the tiny buttons to pop off and scatter across the hardwood floor. 

“ _Fuuuuck_ ,” Stiles moaned, eyes gone glassy as he took in Derek’s bare chest and general dishevelment. The younger man wasn’t much better off, shirt half-way untucked, hair in disarray, mouth hanging open in the most sinful way. Derek didn’t have much time to admire before Stiles was back on him, hands running over his chest, pushing the shirt and jacket off his shoulders as he attacked his mouth. 

“Is it too pathetic for me to tell you how long I’ve wanted to do this?” Stiles breathed into his jaw when they finally broke for air, hands clasped behind his neck as though he was afraid Derek would up and leave. In response Derek took a long, lingering sniff of Stiles’ hair, running his nose along the edge of his face where the sweat gathered, where he smelled the most pure. Stiles shivered.

“Four and a half years. Ever since you made that, _hnnnng_ , ridiculous catch at the Chudley Cannons game, I- you’ve been on my mind, like, like this.” Derek dragged his blunt teeth across the pulse point on Stiles’ neck, practically tasting the ratcheting heartbeat as he closed his mouth over it. “And it’s so lame, because up until this year you didn’t even _know_ me, and I’d been fantasizing-”

“I knew you,” the confession made Stiles freeze, no longer writhing with pleasure as Derek laved at his neck.

“Wait, what? How-what?” He spluttered, eyes gone huge in confusion. Derek took this opportunity of stillness to kiss the hollow of his throat before meeting his eyes.

“Don’t you remember? We were at school together, here, for two years.” Stiles’ look of shock and confusion didn’t waver, causing Derek to frown a bit and begin doubting his own memory until the younger man veritably exploded.

“Of fucking _course_ I remember that! Why do _you_? Oh my god, I was some nothing little first year, you were Derek _Fucking_ Hale, sixth year, seeker extraordinaire, all around Adonis. I shouldn’t have even been a speck on your radar!” His cheeks were taking on the most delicious shade of pink, from embarrassment, pleasure, or excitement, Derek didn’t care. He just wanted to taste as much of it as he could. He rubbed a thumb across his cheekbone, teasing the flush, causing Stiles to stutter further.

“You were kind of hard to ignore, you know, showing up everywhere, always with that ridiculous grin, McCall at your heals.” He nipped at his jaw, which seemed to bring Stiles back to life, eliciting a groan out of him. “Although I have to admit, I never thought about doing _this_ to you,” he slipped his hands underneath his shirt, warm palms running up and down his sides, over the swell of his ass, making Stiles shiver again, “until you walked into my office that first day.”

“Holy shit,” Stiles breathed out, honey-brown eyes half-lidded, drunk on arousal. The scent was practically pouring off of him, and Derek still couldn’t get enough. He ran his nose along his neck, dropping kisses every few centimeters, resisting the urge to bite, to _mark_ , to make sure everyone knew this boy was taken. Was his. Stiles seemed to sense what Derek was trying so hard _not_ to do, and, like the brat that he was, bared his neck in the most tantalizing way. 

“ _Do it_ ,” he breathed, barely audible to even Derek’s sensitive ears, and that was apparently all he needed to hear. He moved the shirt collar down an inch before nipping and sucking at the pale, unmarred skin. Stiles moaned, fingers gripping Derek’s hair for dear life as the older man worked his neck, hands running soothingly all over his body: under his shirt, over his pants, fingers teasing the beltline of his trousers. He pulled back to see a satisfying mark decorating his collarbone. 

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmured, eyes skating over his face, fingers tapping lightly on the still intact buttons. “How far-”

“All of it. All the way,” Stiles said hastily, fingers scrambling to undo his shirt, pushing Derek’s hand aside. He only managed to get two buttons unfastened before he was stilled, Derek’s hand resting gently over his.

“Stiles, we have to think about this.”

“I have, every day, sometimes twice a day.” In spite of his determination to do what’s right Derek couldn’t help but smile. 

“You know what I mean.” He took Stiles’ hands into his, which awarded him the boy’s full attention, “I’m your professor. You’re seventeen-”

“Eighteen in four months.”

“- and not only is this illegal, it’s dangerous.” Stiles threaded their fingers, thumb rubbing against his knuckle, eyes locked with Derek’s.

“You won’t hurt me.” For a moment it was as though the world had stopped, everything stripped away but that moment, those words, and the absolute conviction behind them. Without breaking eye contact Derek loosed his hands from Stiles’ and began to slowly unbutton his shirt. Stiles’ eyes darted down before meeting his once more, tongue jutting out to wet his lips as he dipped his head down to watch the procession. At the last button Derek slid his hand up Stiles’ bared stomach, delighting in the groan his touch elicited as he pushed the fabric off his shoulders, down his arms, each move slow and measured, a stark contrast to the erratic beating of Stiles’ heart. 

“Okay?” Derek asked, hands smoothing back up his arms, making the younger man shudder as his fingers traced his collarbone, keen as a thumb brushed a nipple.

“So fucking okay,” he groaned out, arching into the touch. Derek drank him in - every sound, every scent, the way his muscles contracted as Derek’s fingers trailed down his stomach to the dusting of hair above his waistband - until he felt heavy with it. He slipped his hands down over his ass, hooking underneath his thighs and hoisting him up with ease. Stiles responded instantly, wrapping his legs around his waist, kicking his shoes off and hooking his ankles for stability as their mouths found each other once again. With sure, steady steps Derek carried them up the stairs and into the first room he could bump open. Stiles broke away to check out their new surroundings before muttering “ _perfect_ ,” and slipping his tongue back into Derek’s mouth. Derek didn’t ask what was perfect, too consumed with the need to get Stiles spread out before him. He leaned over with the intent of laying him gently on the mattress, but Stiles surged up to grind their hips together, causing the werewolf to lose his grip and drop him half a foot above the bed, creating a thick cloud of dust as his body bounced twice against the mattress. 

“Oh fu-” Stiles started before he was overtaken by a wracking cough, hands batting uselessly against the particulates floating in the air. Derek watched, amused for just a couple of seconds before he felt a tickling in his nose and lost all control of his facial muscles, teeth elongating and eyes flashing as he sneezed four times in a row. He felt lightheaded as he turned back to Stiles, who was laughing and coughing in measures.

“We are _hack_ the most _hork_ pathetic-” there were tears streaming down his face as he tried to recuperate from the attack on his lungs. Derek started moving to lie down, but pulled back as another series of sneezes took over, which prompted another bout of laugh-coughing from Stiles, until he wheezed out a soft, _holy shit_. As the sneeze-daze faded Derek could feel the bones in his face, twisted and pulled to form his beta shift. He whined piteously before turning away until he could shift back. Stiles grabbed his wrist, halting his escape.

“Does it hurt?” He breathed out, thumb stroking the tender inside of his wrist. Derek shook his head, still unwilling to turn around.

“No, not for a long time now.”

“Can I see?” He instinctively shook his head again, all but ready to sprint down the hall, and probably would have if it weren’t for the steady grip Stiles had on him. Heaving out a sigh he turned, slowly, knowing too well how people generally reacted to their first glimpse of a werewolf in beta shift. But Stiles’ face didn’t hold derision, or disgust, or even fear. All he could see was awe and affection. 

“Can I -” he reached out with his free hand, the right still clasped around Derek’s wrist, and the werewolf was practically helpless to resist, kneeling carefully on the bed and leaning in. Only then did Stiles drop his hold, needing both hands for the careful exploration of Derek’s new face. He shivered a little at the feeling of fingertips tracing across his protruding brow, petting softly down the side of his face. Never in his life had he come across someone so gentle, handling him as though he were breakable. 

“You’re beautiful,” Stiles muttered, left hand cupping his cheek as the right slid through his hair. Derek listened for it, he _strained_ to hear it - the blip, the stutter that would expose Stiles as the well-meaning liar he had to be. But his heart had been steady, his scent heavy with excitement and arousal, and Derek could barely handle it. He pulled his features back to human - blunt teeth, smooth brow - and watched Stiles marvel at the transformation before pressing their mouths together once more, kissing him sweet and deep, trying to show what he couldn’t say, what he didn’t have the words for.

“I don’t think we should move much,” he managed once they parted, still hovering over Stiles, “not sure we can survive another dust attack.”

“Then just lay with me,” and that, Derek could do. He slowly lowered his body to the mattress, situating himself so he could keep his eyes and hands on Stiles, allowing the younger man to curl into his chest. “Yeah, this’ll work.” 

“You’re not disappointed?”

“I mean I wouldn’t say no to getting down to business, but, end game, I just want to be with you. So if this is all we can do...” he pushed in a little closer, running his socked foot down Derek’s leg, “...dude, do you still have your shoes on?” 

Derek snorted, jostling the bed as he maneuvered his body to toe off his shoes, and decided to shimmy out of his pants as well. Even if sex was ruled out there was no reason he couldn’t be comfortable.

“Mmm, good idea,” Stiles slurred, kicking his own pants down and off before splaying his body on top of Derek’s, a pleasant weight anchoring him to the bed. Their bare legs tangled together as Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles’ stupidly narrow waist and frankly _absurdly_ broad shoulders. Stiles hummed at the contact, nestling his face into the crook of Derek’s neck, whispering something about ‘so warm’ and ‘if I wake up alone in my room I’m gonna be so mad,’ which had Derek chuckling and kissing Stiles’ forehead before allowing himself to be lulled to sleep by the steady beating of the boy’s heart.

____________________________

 

Stiles woke up in parts, like his brain knew he’d need a few runs to believe everything that had happened _really_ happened. But the proof was literally right in front of him, still asleep and looking entirely too angelic. He gently ran a crooked finger down his face, stroking his beard, appreciating the surprising softness before petting his eyebrows with the pad of his thumb, using featherlight touches so as not to disturb the man sleeping underneath him. He vaguely wondered how many others had gotten to see this, and quickly dismissed the thought, choosing instead to focus on this quiet time between them, when he could look his fill and marvel over the fact that _Derek Hale kissed him_! More than once! Many times!

“I can hear your heartbeat,” the man murmured, prying one eye open to give him a look. Stiles grinned dopily, resting his chin on the ball of Derek’s perfectly sculpted shoulder as he watched the werewolf slowly wake up. He opened one eye, then both, then closed them for another minute, breaths getting deeper before his eyelids fluttered open again, a little more coherent this time as he attempted to look around the room. “What time’sit?”

“I don’t know, still dark out, though. You got somewhere to be?” Derek was awake enough to give him a very dry look.

“I’m just trying to-” Derek’s whole body stiffened, eyes going blank as if looking at something far away. Stiles sat up, looking around the room quickly before focusing back on Derek, watching his eyes go from vacant to afraid in the span of a second. 

“Derek? What is it? Are you okay?” 

“A wolf, an _alpha_ , howling-” he winced for a brief second before cursing and scrambling off the bed, clawed hands grabbing for his pants.

“Whoa whoa, calm down-” Derek’s eyes were shining blue when he whipped his head toward him.

“There are people out there, I have to help them.”

“Holy shit!” Stiles tumbled out of the bed, pulling on his own pants before he was stopped by a firm hand gripping his arm. 

“You’re not coming.”

“But-”

“Stiles,” he pressed his nose against the younger man’s temple, “please, I need to know you’re safe. Promise me you’ll go back to the castle.” The words were soft and desperate, spoken directly into his skin in a way that made his heart clench. He nodded, feeling more than hearing the relieved sigh that was quickly followed by a kiss to the side of his head. “Thank you.” 

Stiles stood back, watching as Derek hurriedly put on his shoes and grabbed his shirt before remembering it had been rendered useless earlier in the night. He couldn’t help but smile at the memory, buttons flying every which way as Derek tugged. He’d never gotten so hard so fast. 

“I’ll be shifting anyway,” Derek muttered, tossing the shirt to the floor and taking Stiles’ face in his hands once more. “Be careful. I’ll send Duke when I get back so you know I’m okay.” 

“You fuckin’ better,” he mumbled as he leaned forward to kiss him, just a quick press of lips before Derek had to pull back, regret and worry etched on face. He turned and made his way to the secret passage, looking back only once before disappearing into the darkness. Stiles’ stomach clenched at the idea of Derek out there alone, not that he’d be able to do much. He didn’t even have his wand on him, left behind on his desk in his haste to get here. 

He put on the rest of his clothes in silence, ears strained to hear the sounds that had called Derek away. If it weren’t for the genuine worry in his eyes Stiles might have thought this was just his excuse to get away from a precarious situation. If they continued and decided to take things further there were huge risks for both of them, and Stiles wasn’t naive enough to think his underage ass was worth losing a career over. He buttoned up his shirt, grateful that Derek had taken his time with it rather than adhering to the impatience Stiles had shown with _his_ shirt. He bent down to pick up one of the loose buttons, iridescent and pearl, and shoved it in his pocket before grabbing his broom and opening the window. The sun was still down, hints of dawn still hours away. A cold wind whipped around him and he shivered, silently cursing himself for leaving his cloak behind; yet another thing forgotten in his sex-crazed haste. He slung a leg over the broom and tucked down, easing his way out the window, not bothering to close it as he took to the sky. The castle loomed in the distance, a few lamps still burning in windows despite the late hour, and he was about to turn for it, he really was, but at that exact second a blood-curdling howl was leashed from somewhere deep in the Forbidden Forest. A normal person would have run the opposite way of the clearly pissed off monster, and Stiles was totally onboard to do just that, having every intention to honor his promise to Derek, when there was an answering howl. A sound that hit the very core of him, tugged at him like a rope around his chest. 

“Sorry Derek,” he whispered before zipping off into the dark.

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of my humor (and all chapter titles) shamelessly borrowed from [Brad Neely](http://www.creasedcomics.com/) and his genius ["Dear Readers: Wizard People"](http://archive.org/details/wizard-people)
> 
> Also come visit me on [tumblr](http://little-werewolf-oven.tumblr.com) for Derek Hale feels


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